


Sonnets Behind the Flame

by jmcats



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Cabin AU, F/M, High School AU, M/M, Ziam angst, larry stylinson - Freeform, ziam, ziam smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-03
Updated: 2013-06-03
Packaged: 2017-12-13 20:13:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 55,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/828380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jmcats/pseuds/jmcats
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Liam has been anticipating a weekend away at Louis' family's cabin for years.  It's nothing but wilderness, bonfires, football, his best mates, alcohol, and an escape from their last year in Sixth Form.  Oh, and Niall has invited Harry Styles and Zayn Malik along.  The same Zayn who's a complete prick to Liam's mates.  The same Zayn that Liam has spent so many years hating, he doesn't know the reasons anymore.</p>
<p>Suddenly, Liam doesn't think this is such a brilliant idea after all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sonnets Behind the Flame

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry if that summary sucked. I didn't want to give away too much and my brain is sort of fried from writing this fic.
> 
> Guess that hiatus didn't last as long as I anticipated, huh? I had this idea in my head and had to get it out of my system before it drove me crazy. I don't know how I feel about it though. I don't hate it but I'm not entirely sure it's the best I've done. I'll let you be the judge. Hopefully, it's not too terrible :(
> 
> I know football season isn't exactly in November and I altered some facts to drive the plot, but hopefully it doesn't bother anyone too much. I apologize in advance if it does.
> 
> A special thank you to [Noel](http://archiveofourown.org/users/xxcaribbean/pseuds/xxcaribbean) for taking the time to listen to me rant, read over portions of the fic for me, and being a tremendous boost of encouragement when I felt less than sure about things. Also, thanks Safaa for, well, being the magical person you are.

“So you’re in, right?”

Liam peeks around his locker door with an arched eyebrow and curious brown eyes.  He sees nothing but swirled and spiky brown hair with no give to it – far too much product.  Starlight blue eyes that are more mischievous than the mock innocence they’re trying to portray.  There’s a light dusting of scruff that almost robs that face of the youth it used to have, that Liam’s used to seeing since the two of them have been best mates since they were twelve.  And then there was that smile running over pink lips – something like the devil dancing in the Garden of Eden with the way it was licked out and grand.

Louis Tomlinson.

Liam lips lift a little for Louis, eyeing him with a hint of distrust.  Some days Louis’ something out of an eighties film with his rolled up trousers, neon bright t-shirts underneath blazers, sunglasses pushed up on his head with Tom’s scuffing against the hallways like his name should’ve been Blaine.  Other days, he’s the cover of Slacker Magazine with his joggers, beanie covering his mused hair, far too much scruff on his chin, and some loose t-shirt hanging off of his compact form with a scattering of ink across his arm and chest.  Those days Louis walks around the halls like he doesn’t give a shit – Liam knows he probably doesn’t – and he’s daring anyone to tell him otherwise.

Today, he’s a little of the latter with his hair gelled back, a scattering of scruff along his face, blue eyes sharp and a little crystalline; it’s a nice contrast to his tan skin with his football jersey doing little to cover those tattoos, and his athletic sweats hanging loose off of his hips.  He’s leaning on his locker, turning the dial a few times before popping it open, a shoe and a few books falling out.  Louis gives them a once over, shrugging carelessly before pulling out his backpack, shouldering it while still grinning at Liam.  Louis’ a hurricane waiting to ravage the halls, the captain of the football team and everyone’s sort of in awe of him; everyone except for Liam.

He snorts at the mess Louis’ made, carefully pulling a notebook from his own locker before bumping his shoulder into the door to shut it.

Liam’s nothing like Louis.  He runs a hand over his hair, the once buzzed prickles lengthier at the top now, his fingers catching on the thicker parts but the sides are still shaven.  His cheeks are round like apples, lips thicker with a nice ruddiness to them when he’s been sucking or nibbling at them too much.  His scruff is lighter in tone, almost unnoticeable when the light hits it right.  He’s certain his brown eyes are warmer than Louis’ sapphire ones, richer with life and kindness – a word he’s almost certain Louis never learned how to apply to strangers, or some of the other kids in their year.  His eyebrows are thick, offsetting the largeness of his eyes and he’s just grown into his nose, the curve of his jaw and chin.  Louis’ short, compact, but Liam is broad in the shoulders, thicker biceps, larger hands that can cradle the football but Louis’ is quicker, a bit more skilled in the finesse of it all.  Liam’s Iron Man and Batman t-shirts, plaid button downs, and a smile that’s wide and inviting, not that anyone ever responded much to it.

It’s not that he’s ever felt less than Louis, but he has in the eyes of others.  Louis roamed the halls like he _owned_ them – the unofficial leader of the school.  Liam was shier, quieter, a habit he never grew out of when they were kids like Louis did.  Louis didn’t have to try to get good grades; he was brilliant.  Liam had to put in extra hours, ask for help and extra credit while managing to stay one of the key players of the team and taking on a few shifts throughout the week at a donut shop a few minutes from his house.  Louis’ parents were rich, showering Louis in the most expensive things while Liam’s parents were hardworking for every pound they have, his father and his grandfather building the house they lived in from the ground up.  But Liam’s parents were attentive, at least his mum was, while Liam wonders if Louis even knew what an actual conversation with his own parents sounded like.

Louis has the kind of personality other kids gravitated toward, never struggling to chat up the most beautiful girl, or the most striking guy, if he felt the need.  Liam is, well, a little clumsier with things of that nature.  He’s certain that’s the reason his longest relationship with a girl was only three months and one of those months she was away on holiday with her family.  He wonders if sometimes it’s Louis’ smile, that wide grin that curves his mouth and gets him nearly anything he wants.  Or maybe it’s because Liam was shit at telling jokes, awkward in moments where Louis is radiant.  Not that Liam wasn’t popular in his own right, but most days, he wonders if it’s that people actually like him or because Louis is, without question, his best mate.

“So, you’re going, _right_?” Louis repeats, rubbing at his chin but that sinful grin is still pushing at his lips.

“Going?” Liam drags out, leaning up against the cool metal of their lockers.

Liam kicks a foot up on the locker below his, head tipping back before he’s waving at Jade, who giggles something to Jesy, batting those large brown eyes at Liam before stringing her fingers through those silly blue streaks in her hair.  Liam’s cheeks heat up, eyes dropping a little because, he gets it, he’s not _as bad_ as he tells himself that he is.  But then she’s cackling, a hand thrown on Jesy’s shoulder who’s all round cheeks, red hair, and an arrogance that Liam never got – not when he remembers her nearly pissing her new knickers after drinking one too many juice boxes when they were younger.  Still, she reminds him he’s less than what he wants to be on some days.

Louis narrows his eyes at them, clicking his tongue and they’re silencing just that quickly, turning away before Louis jerks his head back at Liam, his grin layered now.  Liam drops his eyes, toying with the frayed edges on the papers sticking out of his notebook.

“Come on Li, you know what I’m going on about,” Louis sighs, poking a stiff finger into Liam’s shoulder.

Liam does, nodding slowly while chewing at his bottom lip.

He’s eighteen now and his parents have finally agreed to allow him to go on Louis’ yearly trip to the cabins his family owns out in Cornwall.  Louis’ been going since he was six, though Liam’s pretty certain Louis hates anything that has to do with nature and the woods.  He’s been making it a rather talked about trip with his school friends since they were fifteen, his parents giving him the kind of freedom that wasn’t talked about but Liam knew it was to appease Louis rather than them investing their own time into their son.  But Liam’s parents were a little more wary about the idea of a bunch of teenagers travelling nearly four hours away, unchaperoned, for an entire weekend and he’s more than a little surprised they agreed when he first asked – “But Louis will be there?  And Niall?  And _no drinking_ or heavy partying, yeah?” his mum asked and Liam could do nothing but nod sheepishly, looking at his hands more than her.  He hated lying to her, but his father merely grunted his acknowledgement, sipping on his coffee while flipping through the newspaper.

“You know my mum is going to call on the hour, yeah?” Liam wonders, setting his eyes on Louis whose grin is smug now, arms folding over his chest.

“Of course.”

“And my dad is – “

“Letting me borrow the SUV for the weekend so we can go,” Louis chimes in, his smile turning sinfully gold now.

Liam blinks at him for a moment, snorting.

He’s not surprised, honestly.  Louis has that way with adults, especially with Liam’s parents.  Even when Louis broke their back window during a rather heated game of footy when they were fourteen, he was somehow able to convince Liam’s father that the draft from the wind that day – it was June and a simmering heat, not a strip of breeze for miles – sent Louis’ weak kick of the ball through the window.  His father nodded along and rested a hand on Louis’ shoulder, congratulating Louis on making the football team that year while eyeing Liam because he had tried out _six_ times already and still had yet to accomplish that feat.  Somehow, Liam wonders how his father had forgotten Louis had just broken their window but, then again, it was Louis – the devil in teenager’s clothes.

But that was one of the brilliant things about Louis and one for the reasons Liam was always just a little jealous of Louis.  Only slightly though because he loves Louis, really.  He made Liam feel alive in his own skin, a little less unsure of who he was and where he belonged.

“And we’re leaving when?”

“Friday.”

“We have classes.”

“Yeah,” Louis sighs out, deflating a little.  “We’re leaving right after school.  I’m going to ditch Environmental Studies because, honestly, why am I even taking that class?  And Ms. Byrne sort of adores me.”

Liam feels a grin tug at his lips.  Louis was right, Ms. Byrne did favor Louis a little although she mainly just didn’t feel like dealing with Louis’ shit.  But Liam and Louis both knew Liam couldn’t afford to miss one of his Sixth Form classes.  He was already struggling in his Art and Design and Creative Writing classes and he doesn’t think Mr. Wagner would look too highly on him missing out on his Music course.

“And you’re sure – “

“Liam.” Louis hisses, shoulders slumping forward.  “Are you going to be like this the entire trip?  Worrying about _every_ little thing?”

“It’s in my nature,” Liam says with a small grin, nudging Louis with his elbow.

“Ever since you were thirteen and were worried masturbating more than once a day was unhealthy,” Louis teases him, cackling when Liam’s cheeks blush a fevered red hue.

Liam ducks his head, dragging the heel of his Converse along the floor.  He rubs absentmindedly at the four thick arrows along the bottom of his forearm, nothing as artsy or meaningless as all the tiny ones along Louis’ arm but he likes it and it had its own meaning that Liam refuses to explain to Louis, but only because he likes pissing Louis off more than anything.

“Shut it Lou,” Liam mumbles, playfully shoving at Louis’ shoulder.

“It’s okay LI,” Louis says reassuringly, giving Liam’s shoulder a strong squeeze.  “One day you’ll get laid as often as any other eighteen year old guy and you can start using the lube you purchase for two people instead of you and your hand.”

“Wanker,” Liam groans, his hand dragging down his face and he doesn’t want to look around to see if anyone actually hears Louis.  He’s certain they do.

“You love me.”

“Not really.”

“But Li,” Louis whines, a wounded expression falling over his face.  “How could you not?”

“Easily,” Liam says with a snort, eyes rolling when Louis’ mouth drops open.

“You arse.”

Liam shrugs, his cheeks pushing up with a smile while Louis pouts.

“Whatever,” Louis says, waving Liam off before leaning next to him on the lockers, winking at Aiden as he passes, the other boy ducking his head like no one is supposed to know about those few times – _eight_ times, actually – he and Louis snogged or those few times – _three_ , maybe more – Aiden went down on Louis under the empty bleachers after their team won a game.

“You’re my best mate.  You’re _required_ to love me,” Louis tells him, his grin sliding into that mockingly arrogant one again.  “I know too much about you for you not to love me.”

Louis really was an asshole when he wanted to be.

“Blackmailing me?”

“Into loving me?  Of course not,” Louis scoffs, chin lifted condescendingly.  “You love me because I’m so great to you.”

Liam laughs lowly, nodding.  “I love you too, you asshole.”

“See, that wasn’t so hard,” Louis teases him, edging an arm around Liam’s waist while resting his head on Liam’s shoulder.

“It was exhausting,” Liam says, chuckling lowly but he’s rubbing gentle circles into the small of Louis’ back.

“Little shit.”

“Such kind words from a best mate,” Liam says lowly, his grin tipping a little sideways but Louis can’t see it, too engrossed in eyeing Cher whose high heels click against the floor.  The sound echoes through the hallways with her thick brown hair swept to one side, bubblegum popping as she sings along sweetly to her iPod – _Primadonna girl, yeah. All I ever wanted was the world. I can’t help that I need it all_ – hips swinging with her plaid skirt hiked up a little too high, long lashes batting.  She’s nothing but attitude in the most fascinating way.

Liam chews on his bottom lip, spots the way she winks at him before her lip curls at Louis – _You say that I’m kind of difficult. That it’s always someone else’s fault_ – and Louis’ returning that glare, head shaking as she adjusts the strap of her bag on her shoulder, flipping him off with a giggle.  Liam’s certain it has something to do with Louis and Eleanor, or maybe Cher never got over him for breaking her heart when they were in Sixth Year and he asked Lucie to be his Valentine.  Liam thinks she’s a little more mature about things.

“Ass leach,” she says over her shoulder and, well, Liam wasn’t always accurate about his assumptions.

“I swear, I’d kill for a date with that one.”

Liam looks up, his smile reflecting gold when he spots Niall sidling up to them.  He’s scruffy bleached blonde hair, eyes like a pair of azure diamonds haloing light from them, sunny smile with pale skin making that blush in his cheeks a perfect shade of red.  He’s unbearably happy, even more so than when he first transferred to their school from Mullingar three years before.  He’s got a pair of books tucked under his arm, feet slowly dribbling a football between them while licking at the icing from a cupcake, and Liam knows, without question, Niall’s probably got various other treats stored away in his locker down the hall.

“’s not worth it,” Louis says offhandedly, easing off of Liam.

“You’re daft,” Niall scoffs, leaning a little to try and peek under that skirt but he’s almost too clumsy about it, staggering a little while Louis easily sweeps the ball from his feet, kipping it up.

Liam chuckles at him.  Niall’s clumsy on his good days but on the pitch he’s an amazing goalie.  Probably the best in their division, not that Niall pays enough attention to that.  He’s sort of brilliant and daft all at once, unable to answer any question the teachers ask him, but he aces every test he ever takes.

“You’d never stand a chance,” Louis says mockingly with a smirk, balancing the ball on one knee before dropping it down to the toe of his Van’s, bouncing it a few times.

Liam watches with a smile.  Louis’ amazing at things like this: football and insults.  He offers Niall a sympathetic grin when Niall’s looks at him for confirmation.  Niall’s lips push sideways before he’s swiping his tongue over that cupcake again, scooping off half with icing with one lick.

“Tosser,” Niall mumbles at Louis, making a face when Louis’ brow drops, lips pushing outward.

“Where’s my tea?” Louis asks suddenly as if something completely relevant has dawned on him.  He searches Niall’s hands, which is a little more than ridiculous to Liam because, obviously, whatever Louis wants is not there.

“ _Oh._ ”

“You little Irish leprechaun; you had time to stop by the bakery to get a cupcake, but not tea?” Louis asks, his voice strained and an incredulous look stills on his face.

Niall ducks his head a little. “I also got a blueberry muffin. Joan down at the bakery made a fresh batch and – “

“You’re _always_ hungry,” Louis sighs, hands thrown up. “That’s right selfish of you, Ni.”

“Selfish?  Do you know the definition?” Niall asks back, balking at Louis.

“Niall Horan,” Louis replies flatly, some sort of justified expression on his face.  Liam shakes his head.

“Get off of it Lou,” Niall snorts, swirling his tongue into that pink icing.  Liam tries not to cringe at the way he does it, like his tongue is thinking about licking into something else and, yeah, Liam chooses _not_ to remind himself of that story Niall told them about the things he likes to do in bed.  He wasn’t drunk off cheap beer, and it was way too early to wretch out that splendid breakfast his mum made him that morning.

“Everything set for this weekend, Nialler?” Liam asks before Louis can chew out another insult.

Niall beams, head tilting a little.  He’s quite infectious with those cheeks, lit up eyes, lips smeared in pink frosting.

“I can’t wait.  I think my mum is more excited than me but that’s probably because she has the flat to herself to walk around naked in or something,” Niall says, a shifting expression riding his face.

Louis snorts while Liam holds back a giggle, dragging his hand down the side of his face.

“Maybe she realizes you’re just quite mental,” Louis offers, a soft kick of the ball sending it rolling by Niall.

Niall catches it with a foot, his cheeks pushing higher with a smirk. “I think so.”

“You two are mad,” Liam chuckles, foot swiping the ball from Louis when Niall passes it back.

Niall gives them a sheepish look, stuffing the cupcake into his mouth before mumbling out, “I invited Harry Styles along. Hope that’s okay, Lou?”

“Who’s Harry Styles?” Louis asks, leaning back against the lockers.

“Come on Lou, you know Harry,” Niall insists but Louis’ blinking at him, confusion settling into his face.

It’s not that Louis didn’t exactly care about some of the people at their school, it’s just that, well, only certain ones were _important_ enough for Louis to remember.  He remembers his small circle of mates, a few ex-girlfriends – and boyfriends – but not the dozens of people that follow him around this school like he was a savior or something.  Liam’s almost certain Louis couldn’t name the last five people he snogged at a few of the parties they’ve been to, but it wasn’t for lack of trying.  Louis just didn’t care to keep a tally of names.

“Isn’t he _younger_ than us?” Liam asks, his brow furrowing as he balances the ball on the toe of his Converse.

“What?  Like a _fresher_?” Louis hisses.  He looks appalled, eyebrow arched.

“No,” Niall says, barking out a laugh. “He’s a year younger than us but he’s brilliant, really. He’s already taking some Thirteenth Year courses.”

Louis shrugs, unimpressed, while Liam chews on the inside of his mouth.

Liam pushes out a sigh, pushing the ball up and catching it with his other foot with ease.

“But still Nialler – “

Louis waves Liam off quickly, narrowing his eyes at Niall before saying, “Continue.”

“He’s quite ace, Lou.  He skateboards, listens to a lot of fantastic underground rock music.  Loves Kanye and hip hop,” Niall says, his smile shifting wider.  “Oh, and he pulled a rather brilliant prank on Mr. Walsh earlier this term. You heard about the one where the kid put a fish in the ceiling of Walsh’s classroom?”

Liam does, frowning.  He thought it was rather juvenile at the time, even if half of his class found it humorous.  The foul odor lingered in the halls for a week, something Liam still cringes at.

“Is he single?” Louis wonders, a curiosity dancing in his tone.

Liam balks at him, kipping the ball up before catching it with the toe of his shoe again.

“I thought you were trying to rekindle things with El again this weekend?” Liam asks, his brow lifting.

“Yeah, yeah,” Louis sighs, hand waving around theatrically. Liam expects nothing less from Louis. “Yes, well, if _that_ doesn’t work out, I suppose it wouldn’t be quite awful to have a backup plan, yeah?”

Liam rolls his eyes, Niall laughing lowly.  No, he doesn’t expect _anything_ less from Louis.

“And Harry might’ve invited Zayn along,” Niall says discreetly, rubbing at the back of his head like he’s holding in a secret.  His cheeks tint pink when Louis’ eyes go wide.  Liam’s ends up losing the ball quickly too, stumbling to catch it but Louis’ a little quicker, scooping it up.

“ _Zayn_?” Louis hisses.

“Zayn.  Zayn Malik,” Niall offers but he doesn’t need to.

“No,” Liam says flatly, arms crossing over his chest.

“But Liam – “

“ _No._ ”

“Come on Liam, it’s just Harry and Zayn,” Louis sighs.

“No, Lou,” Liam demands, head shaking.

“But why not?” Niall asks, and Liam shoots him a look that says, _‘As if you even have to fucking ask._ ’  Clearly, Niall does.

“He hates us.  All of us.  Always has,” Liam insists, arms dropping to his sides. “He’s a _dick_ , Niall. He walks around here like we’re the assholes when he makes fun of us with his little sidekicks Danny and Anthony and, just, _no_. No, he’s not going.”

“If he hated us so much, why would he agree to go?” Niall asks, his brow rising. He’s regarding Liam like he pities him. He shouldn’t. He should pity Zayn fucking Malik and all of his arrogance. All of his, well, his… _everything_.

“Because he’s Satan,” Liam finally spits out lowly, eyes narrowing.

“Hey, I thought I had that position filled,” Louis says weakly, his face falling.

“I agree.  Louis is the reigning Prince of Darkness,” Niall notes with a glazed smile, tossing an arm around Louis’ shoulders.

“Is that a compliment?” Louis wonders, eyeing Niall who merely nods happily.

“Lou,” Liam pleads, trying to rule that desperation on his face, but he knows he’s unsuccessful in the worst ways.

Louis shrugs, dragging his fingers along the scruff on his chin. “I don’t know Styles, but who cares about Malik? He’ll probably be more miserable being stuck with us than we’ll ever be hanging around him.”

“But Lou – “

“Is that a yes?” Niall cuts in, eyes wide with a sparkling smile that, for once, Liam hates.

Louis gives him a small nod, and Liam’s falling back against the lockers as Niall pumps a fist in the air.  He ignores the way his head bounces off the metal, frustration swallowing him.

A weekend with Louis, Niall, and their friends. And that young kid, Harry Styles. Oh, and Zayn Malik.  That self-absorbed, spiteful, prick Zayn Malik. Who’s sort of interesting to look at, but, no, he’s an arse.  Has been since they were a couple of nine year olds arguing over Pokémon and why Zayn was insane for thinking Power Rangers were better than Woody and Buzz Lightyear.

Liam feels sick, and he thinks maybe it’ll last long enough that he doesn’t actually have to be bothered with this weekend at all.

He’s certain Louis would drag him along, kicking and screaming the entire way regardless.

**

The air has a sharp coolness to it, the wind only kicking up once in a while but Liam barely notices it.  He loves November; the way the leaves have lost that redness in favor of a crisp brown, the trees nearly bare and the air thickening with that taste of coming snowflakes.  It’s that much closer to their holiday break, Christmas, and his stomach is dizzy with the way the streets will soon be lit up with sparkling lights, silvers and greens, a streaking of red from garland, and holiday wreaths strewn everywhere.

There’s a thin layer of sweat slick against his forehead, low pants breaking through his parted lips, and the burn he feels right along the back of his thighs is glorious if not a constant reminder that he needs to spend a little more time during the winter months pushing himself to stay fit.  His feet drag through the thick grass along the pitch, the sun settled somewhere behind silver clouds and deep blue skies.  He catches Niall to the side of him, already doubled over and puffing out deep breaths like he can’t drag enough oxygen into his lungs.  Liam grins, the corners of his lips curled.  He knows Niall shouldn’t have had that second bag of crisps and Cherry Coke before practice but Niall has little focus when it comes to things like dieting and properly stretching before a practice.

“I don’t see why we have to practice as much as these freshers and rookies,” Louis huffs out, trailing behind Liam but he’s doing his best to keep up with ragged breaths and his face a solid cherry color.

Liam snorts, lifting his knees a little higher to stretch the muscles in his legs until he feels that singe right along the tendons.

“To stay in shape,” Liam gasps out, his throat dry but he’s not going to stop until he gets through another lap.

“Fuck staying in shape,” Louis groans, his hair already matted to his head with sweat and Louis knows if he quits, Liam will merely drag his ass off of the grass to finish so he huffs through another lap.

“You love it.”

“I fucking hate you,” Louis bites out, arms lifting in poor form but Liam doesn’t tell him.

“Not what you said this morning,” Liam tells him with a mild smirk, glancing over his shoulder because Louis’ slipping further behind and Niall’s spread out like a starfish in the middle of the pitch.

“I wasn’t covered in sweat and two steps closer to death this morning,” Louis whines, dragging a hand through his hair to push the fringe off of his forehead.  “I don’t even put up this much effort during sex.”

Liam winces at that, steadying his eyes on their coach who’s nodding at him as he goes for one more lap.  His body is giving, he can feel it, but he knows he’ll feel amazing once he gets home and showers away the sweat, the grime, and the dirt from their earlier drills.  He spots Andy crouched on the side, Max leaning over a bin puking out red Gatorade while Jay rubs at his back apathetically.  Louis’ throwing his hands up, flipping Liam off when he grins back at him before he’s strolling to the sideline with his hands on his hips while gasping desperately for air.

Liam stops when he reaches the fence just past the goal, sucking in deep breaths that leave him coughing because his lungs can’t hold in that much air anymore.  He drags the sleeve of his hoodie across his forehead to wipe away the sweat, tiny little colorful spots sparking across his eyes but he knows that feeling: it’s exhilarating.  His fingers grip the coils of the fence, the cool metal stiff and sharp against his skin.  He’s not exhausted but everything is starting to burn now, even his toes.  He drags his cleats through the grass, catching strips of green all the while his eyes focus across the school lawn to the small set of trees that provide a proper amount of shade during the warmer months when a few of the upper classman sit outside for lunch.

He chews at his bottom lip, pulls back a scowl when he looks on the lone figure sitting beneath one of the trees, knees pulled up while scribbling quickly into a notebook that looks tattered and used.  He leans forward on the fence, chin resting on his folded arms while watching the way the wind bends a few of the branches on the tree, breaking the bits of sunlight trying to peek behind the clouds.  They dance along that sharp jaw that has a shadowing of scruff along it, scattered over the defined cheeks too.  He’s biting at his lip with his head bowed, a swirl of dark brown and black hair pulled up into a quiff.  His skin is honey gold, thick eyebrows shaping those eyes that Liam can’t see but he remembers them so well – various shades of brown, olive, summertime gold, a few flecks of amber.  Those lips, pinked and slightly chapped, hide a smile that Liam’s rarely seen but he knows it when it happens, knows exactly who it belongs to without question: _Zayn Malik_.

Liam can’t see the tattoos but he knows they’re there, coiling around his forearm, hidden just beneath that leather jacket and flimsy t-shirt underneath.  He’s thin but fit, a nice tone to his muscles not that Liam ever looked.  He just made note of it a few times, when Zayn passed or when Zayn decided to participate in some physical activity other than huffing a smoke behind the building.  His skin is a satin gold like the rays of the sun just before the evening falls.  His tongue licks out, wets his lips, hangs out the corner of his mouth as he writes a little slower and Liam wonders what words he’s piecing together.  He wonders if what some of the others say is true – _“He’s quiet.” “He’s an arrogant, vain, asshole who stays to himself mostly.” “I don’t know what he’s always writing.  A book?  Maybe he’s putting together a master plan to kill us all, the fucking freak.” “I heard he writes poems.”_

Liam drags his own tongue over his lips, lungs searching for air and his chest feels heavy.  He doesn’t think it’s from the run this time and he stutters on an inhale.  His fingers tremble and he tells himself to look away but he doesn’t.  He watches Zayn, the way he’s so intent, focused… so beautiful.  Liam shivers at that because, honestly, he’s not the least bit interested in entertaining that thought.  But Zayn is exotic unlike Liam whose normal, plain, average at best.  He doesn’t have that slow burning fire in his eyes, fingers that look like they could break and repair a body so easily.  No, he doesn’t have a quiet nature that’s so noticeable, for good or bad.

He bites down hard down on his lip when his mind drifts, wonders if Zayn was still that little kid who Liam shared ice cream with when they were younger, unaware of how much life changes the older you get.

He’s certain Zayn was probably always an asshole, but maybe he was kind to Liam because he knew Liam wasn’t like the other kids that made fun of him for reading to himself in the corner, for looking a little different from the rest of them, for never understanding the way Zayn talked, or for always being a few steps behind Zayn because Zayn was brilliant in the most indescribable ways.  But, after a while, he didn’t treat Liam any different from the others.  Liam was just another “sport” and Liam couldn’t forgive him for that.

His fingers curl into the metal of the fence, sharp edges biting at his palm but it feels better than the blood rushing through his veins.  It feels incredible compared to the way his heart raced, eyes narrowing as he regards Zayn like a poison that Liam can’t seem to get out of his system.

“He’s not that bad,” Louis says, resting his elbow on Liam’s shoulder before passing him a bottled water.

Liam toys with the top, dragging that plastic cap back and forth while glaring at Zayn.

“He’s a _dick_.”

“Yes, so you said earlier,” Louis sighs out, tilting his chin downward.  “But I never had a problem with him.”

“You never talked to him,” Liam spits out, lifting the water to his lips and draining half of it with a single gulp.

“I have,” Louis argues lowly, Liam shooting him a doubtful look.

Louis has a thoughtful expression on his face for a beat, fingers dancing over the back of Liam’s hand.

“I _think_ I have.”

Liam chuckles, nodding.  He sets his eyes on Zayn again, ignoring the way Niall skips up to them, settling on the other side of Liam with an arm slung around Liam’s broader shoulders.

“Why Harry?” Liam asks, eyes still on Zayn but he’s talking to Niall.

Niall blinks at him for a second, dragging his teeth over his lip.

“He bailed me out a few times in that stupid Chemistry class.  He’s not a genius or anything but he let me copy his notes, he even came by my flat to study with me a few times.  And we chatted and, I don’t know, he seems like a genuinely brill kid,” Niall explains.  Liam nods along, pulling his eyes from Zayn when Niall adds, “And he thinks Lou is sort of incredible.  Like, seriously, he talks about Lou all the time.”

“Me?” Louis asks, gaping at Niall.

Niall nods happily, cheeks lifting high.  “I think he’s right mental sometimes.  But, I don’t know, I get the appeal.”

“Appeal?” Liam says, eyebrow arching.

“Wrong choice of words,” Niall chuckles, pinching at Liam’s shoulder until he looks away again.  “You know how people are about Lou.”

Liam does.  Always has.  Sometimes he wishes he didn’t but, then again, maybe he was the same way when he doesn’t pay attention to it all.

He watches Zayn push up from the ground, dusting off his black jeans while tucking his notebook under his arm.  He pulls a cigarette from behind his ear, replacing it with his pen before yanking a lighter from his back pocket.

The flame sparks bright in the dulled shadows, Liam making a face when Zayn takes the first inhale.  He hates smoking, the scent of it, the way it ruins the body but, he thinks, Zayn looks even more intoxicating when he does it.  The way his lips curl, his cheeks hollow, his long eyelashes flutter a little when he’s taking a pull.  The blue cloud swirls around him, Zayn tilting his head to regard them, head shaking before he’s sneering and Liam wonders if Zayn’s stare is on him and him only.  His cheeks flush a little, eyes dropping away and before he can lift them again, Zayn’s back is to them, walking away.  Liam thinks his heart moves in cadence with Zayn’s steps and he shivers at that, the way it feels so stupid in his mind.

Zayn Malik is an asshole.

“Harry says he’s quite fun actually,” Niall tells them but Liam’s already shaking his head, digging the toe of his trainers into the grass.  “And Harry asked me three times about bringing him before I agreed.  I didn’t figure you lot would have a problem with him coming with.”

“You thought wrong,” Liam says lowly, his voice uneven.

Louis rolls his eyes, nudging Liam’s side with his elbow.  “Kill him _after_ this weekend.”

_You better help with the body_ , he thinks, jerking away from the fence before taking another sip of water.

“Didn’t you two used to be friends?” Louis asks, his brow knitting together.

Liam snorts, kicking at the grass as he moves away from Louis and Niall.  He curls his fingers around the water bottle, plastic crunching beneath his grip.

“No,” Liam says with a long sigh, rubbing at the back of his neck with his back to them.  He lowers his head, his foot unconsciously dragging a _‘Z’_ pattern into the grass.  “I don’t think we were.”

**

By Friday, Liam thinks this all feels like a terrible idea.  He doesn’t tell Louis, though he thinks about it that morning.  Louis ducks out before the end of the day, all smiles and a waving of fingers before he’s slipping out of the parking lot in that nice car his parents got him last year.  And Niall can see it, the way Liam’s more than a little tense, chewing on his bottom lip until its raw and chapped.  He doesn’t say anything, not that Liam thinks any of Niall’s words could be encouraging.

They’re outside of Louis’ house, the sun streaking through light gray skies as Louis drags a few bags out to the curb, Liam’s father’s SUV already parked outside.  Louis’ parents are never home, something Liam’s accustom to, so there’s no one around to remind them about important things like filling up the tank – something Louis took care of while skipping Ms. Byrne’s class – or ensuring they have everything they need for the trip.  Liam’s certain his mum would be dotting over each of them, though it’s only Louis and Liam at the moment, triple checking everything with a wrinkled smile and wary eyes.

Liam’s arranging him and Louis’ bags in the trunk of the SUV when he hears it – _You fall, my pride. Don’t ever need to apologize_ – head lifting with a slight arch to his eyebrow.  He sighs beneath an exhale, his arm leaning on the lifted trunk door while he drags a foot along the asphalt.  He feels the frown pulling at his lips when the music rattles the approaching car, holding onto it tightly when that vehicle gets close enough.

Niall’s mum bought him an old blue Toyota a few months back, rusty and the paint was pretty faded but it’s _something,_ unlike Liam who usually catches a ride with Niall or Louis to school, sometimes settling for a ride on the bus when Niall oversleeps or Louis skips his first class to grab a cup of tea from that coffee shop a few blocks from their school.  The passenger door creaks when it opens, the back bumper sort of hangs off, and the whole car shakes when you reach seventy or when the music is cranked too loud like it is now – _You better learn to crawl before I walk away_.

Liam scoops up his football, blindly dropping it into the trunk when Niall hops out, spotless sunshine smile on his lips as he adjusts the backpack on his shoulders.  Harry slips out from the passenger side, fingers swiping through his curls with a twitching grin pushing at his ruddy lips.  He’s got eyes like emeralds, a dimple settling into his left cheek when his lips curve.  He’s tall, slender but not like Zayn.  No, there’s obvious muscle beneath that faded Rolling Stones shirt and zip up hoodie.  There’s a pink to his cheeks, something that isn’t quite permanent like the scarlet that’s always kissing at Niall’s cheeks.  He slips on a beanie, a small bop to his walk that reminds Liam of Niall, happy-go-lucky in the most sickening way but Liam offers him a smile and a small nod when he starts to approach.

“Fuck me,” Louis hisses lowly from behind Liam, rubbing at the back of Liam’s shoulders with an anxiousness to his fingers.  “Well, no, not _you_.  But _him_?  Possibly.  I think I’d like to try him out first.  I wonder if those lips can – “

“Lou,” Liam drags out roughly, jerking from beneath Louis’ touch.  He shoots Louis an incredulous look from over his shoulder, Louis shrugging it off before easing around Liam.

“Save it Li.  I called dibs on this one,” Louis says with a grin, his voice still low enough that Harry doesn’t hear.  “Besides, you’re too much of a prude anyway.  You have sex, what, every six months or something?”

_Probably less_ , Liam thinks, but he punches at Louis’ shoulder instead of saying so.  Louis winces, Liam grinning as Niall rocks on his heels by the car, music still flooding the streets through Niall’s open car door – _He wants to see you crawl. Before I walk away_.

It’s not that Liam couldn’t be like Louis – careless about everything, willing to snog or shag anything that offered him the chance, but he chose not to.  He thinks maybe it’s because he thinks sex is supposed to be special but he’s not _that_ guy.  No, he thinks it’s because not too many people interest him like that.  Or maybe he doesn’t interest them enough that they stay around long enough to want to have sex with him.

His last girlfriend, Danielle, was a bit older and, though they did have sex more than a few times, she always made him feel like it wasn’t really worth it.  She never looked interested while they kissed, moaning lazily when he went down on her or giving him a dulled expression when she gave him head like she couldn’t believe he came so quickly, but honestly, he was seventeen and what guy doesn’t love a blowjob, enthusiastic or not?  The sex always felt rushed, Danielle kindly pushing him off of her after he came, quickly scooping up all of her clothes while giving him a weak smile and sliding into the bathroom for far too long to just be slipping back into that silly outfit she wore for dance class.  And he thinks that one time he did kiss another guy, let the dishy chap blow Liam even though he came far too quickly from the sensation, wasn’t anything memorable.

He thinks he’s like Louis in that respect, unwilling to categorize himself.  Though, when he was with Danielle, he loved her.  He _thinks_ he did.  But there were boys here and there, like Nathan with his dark hair and small stature, soft voice that caught Liam’s attention enough that he sat in the back of class wondering what it would be like to run his fingers over Nathan’s sweat-slick back, bruising his neck with kisses.  He thinks he’s still too young to figure it all out and he’s not trying to, not when he’s certain he couldn’t figure anything out if he tried.

“Harry.  Harry Styles,” Harry says brightly, his voice a thick deepness that surprises Liam, not that he hasn’t heard Harry before.  He’s seen him talking to Cher, laughing with Danny, arm thrown around Niall’s shoulder by Niall’s locker while chatting about something.  It’s just that Liam’s never really spoken to the kid himself.

“Harry,” Louis repeats, a drag to his tongue like he enjoys the way the name feels against it.  He’s shaking Harry’s hand quickly, sinful blue eyes that Liam grimaces at.

Harry nods quickly, confusion settling in when Louis refuses to release his hand.

“Liam,” Liam says instantly, smacking Louis’ hip.  Louis grins wickedly, loosening his grip on Harry’s hand before winking at him.  “And that’s Louis.”

“Yeah, I know,” Harry grins out, a darker shade of pink resting against his cheeks when Louis leers at him for a second too long.  “I know both of you, sort of.  Been to a few of your games.  Plus Niall talks about you both all of the time.”

“Hopefully good things,” Louis says with a chuckle, peering past Harry to shoot Niall a glare.  Niall shrugs nonchalantly, fingers playing with the straps of his backpack.

“Of course,” Harry laughs out but Liam catches the nerves in his stance, the way he keeps rocking back and forth like he’s unsure of what else to do.  “I’m glad you’re letting us come along.”

“Right, _us_ ,” Louis says with a small sigh and Liam feels Louis’ eyes on him for a second.

Liam drags his teeth along his bottom lip, refusing to look at Louis.  He eyes Niall’s car until the back door kicks open, inhaling deeply when the smoke filters into the air, that thick, dark hair hidden beneath a black beanie but the scruff is still thick around his jaw and cheeks.  He should look away, he knows, but he doesn’t.

Zayn drops his cigarette, stubbing it out with the toe of his shoe before exhaling that last curl of smoke from his nose.  He slings a bag over one shoulder, fiddling with his denim jacket before looking up.  Liam feels his expression go blank, his stomach tightening when Zayn fixes his eyes on him, lips set into a thin line.  Liam rubs at the back of his neck, Zayn shifting his hands into the pockets of his jacket before his lips twitch, push sideways with a small grin that Liam refuses to mirror.

“Malik,” Louis calls out, silver-blue eyes bright with a large wave that Zayn lifts an eyebrow at, teeth nipping at his bottom lip.

“He wasn’t really sure you lot wanted him to come along,” Harry tells them and Liam wants to tell him that they don’t but he watches Zayn instead.

Zayn edges up to them, clearing his throat softly, scuffing his foot along loose rocks like Liam.  Liam can see the glistened gold in his eyes now, the sun a pale spot of color compared to the way Zayn’s eyes look almost caramel, even under those long eyelashes.

“Liam,” Zayn says, his voice a little rough but there’s a haunting grin passing over his lips.

“Zayn,” Liam pushes out, his eyes narrowing just a little.  He shifts under Zayn’s gaze.  He can’t decide if Zayn is regarding him as a friend or if he’s just toying with Liam, judging Liam like he knows Zayn always does.

“Take my bag,” Zayn insists with a lifted eyebrow, pulling it from his shoulder before shoving it in Liam’s direction.

Judging asshole, definitely.

Liam bites back a hiss.  This is for Louis, he knows, and he doesn’t think he really wants to spend the entire weekend staring out of his bedroom window instead of getting out of the city, enjoying time with his mates, even if it did include Zayn Malik.

Liam snatches the strap from Zayn’s nimble fingers, ignoring the way Zayn’s grin tips a little higher.  He turns his back to them, carelessly tossing Zayn’s bag into the trunk before sighing.  His fingers grip the tailgate, his eyes watching the way they turn white as he takes in a few calming breaths.

He can do this.  Just until late Monday when they get back because they don’t have school on Monday for some teacher’s assessment day or whatever it was.  And he can tolerate Zayn just that long before he’s certain he might actually kill him, bury his body in that lake somewhere in Cornwall.

He looks at Zayn’s bag with a tinge of guilt, the way it’s slung in there.  He shuts his eyes for a moment, reminds himself that he’s not a dick like Zayn.  No, he’s _human_ , he knows what it means to treat people like they matter.  He leans over the tailgate, reaches into to fix Zayn’s bag until it’s resting neatly on top of Liam’s.  He pushes at Louis’ bags until there’s enough room for Harry’s and Niall’s before leaning back, turning to catch Zayn eyeing him.  His eyes rake over the way Liam’s shirt has pushed up in the back, his jeans resting low enough that Zayn can spot Liam’s red briefs, the curve of his ass.

Liam feels hot, blush rushing his skin and he’s quickly yanking his shirt down, trying to pretend that Zayn didn’t just run his tongue slowly over his lips like he was looking at Liam _that_ way.  No, Zayn wouldn’t.  But there’s something playful behind those gold eyes that makes Liam shiver and he turns away again, stomping to the other side of the SUV because Zayn licks at his lips once more and Liam hates the way his cock twitches, the way those briefs feel so much tighter than they were before.  He puts a hand over his crotch, adjusting himself quickly before yanking open the passenger side door, pretending to look for something but he’s really just buying himself time until he can will away that erection and let the color return to his cheeks.

“We should probably get going soon,” Louis advises, Niall skipping up to them after kicking his door closed.  He doesn’t bother to lock the doors because Niall’s certain he doesn’t have shit worth stealing in that old car.  At least, that’s what he always tells Liam.

“Sounds brilliant,” Harry grins out, tossing his bag into the trunk before grabbing Niall’s and doing the same.

“Are El and the girls already gone?” Niall wonders, sliding back on his heels with his hands sliding into the pockets of his chinos.

“Not yet,” Louis says, leaning against the side of the SUV to watch Harry drag his long fingers through his hair, whispering something to Zayn that Liam can’t make out but he doesn’t think he wants to.  Not when Zayn is pushing at Harry with a pout, head shaking.

“But you know girls,” Louis says with a sigh, kicking at the back tire.  “But Andy and Greg texted me.  They’re already on the way out.  A few guys from the team also.”

Niall nods, easing up to Liam with a grin.  Liam can’t help the way a smile fumbles over his own lips, sliding his arm around Niall’s shoulders, toying with the lid of Niall’s backwards snapback.  Niall’s grin widens, all white teeth and Liam chuckles, thinks about the way Niall used to hide that smile because of his braces.  Niall’s nothing like that clueless fifteen year old he used to be with cherry cheeks, blonde-brown hair, clothes far too big for his small frame, and tripping over his own feet when he tried to run down the halls or on the pitch.

Well, maybe he still trips on his own feet but everything else has changed in a way that Liam thinks helped Niall’s confidence.  Liam wishes he felt that amazing about himself most days.

“We still need to stop and get a few things from the grocery store, yeah?” Liam asks, his fingers toying with the short hairs on the back of Niall’s neck.

Louis nods quickly, eyes tracing over Harry again before turning to Liam.  “And the liquor store.”

“Oi, can’t have a weekend away without a good pint,” Niall cheers, his smile slightly goofy but it pulls a laugh from Harry, a nod from Louis.

“We need to think about what sorts of food we should get for the weekend.  And plenty of water,” Liam tells them, Niall groaning lowly but Harry nods along, Cherub cheeks pushing up with his smile.  “We need things that we can – “

“Okay _daddy_ ,” Louis sighs, waving Liam off.  He taps his finger along his chin, a thoughtful expression smoothing over his face.  “Harry and I will grab the booze while you, Zayn, and Niall get the supplies.”

Liam chokes on an inhale, Niall thumping him on the back.  He clears his throat, wide eyes looking over Zayn who’s standing with an indifferent expression on his face, his thumb swiping over his lighter to pull out a flame every few seconds.

“I thought that, you know, maybe,” Liam starts but Louis narrows his eyes at Liam as if to say _‘Don’t fuck this up for me.’_   He shakes his head – he thinks maybe Louis can be more of a dick than Zayn is.

“Do I need to find the nearest store?  Maybe we could find a good bottle of wine to bring also?” Harry suggests, yanking his iPhone from his pocket.

Liam watches Louis’ eyes go wide, leaning back as Louis nearly reaches up to smack Harry’s phone from his hand.  He doesn’t, but his fingers twitch at his side, teeth chewing at his lip, and Niall’s slinking from under Liam, dragging his feet as he eases between Harry and Louis.

“What the fuck is _that?_ ” Louis asks with a hiss.

Harry looks up, his thumb still swiping over his phone.  He doesn’t look panicked, not like most people would when Louis takes that tone but he sucks in his bottom lip for a second, running his eyes over Louis and then Niall.  He carefully arches an eyebrow before saying, “What is what?”

“That thing in your hands,” Louis squeaks as if Harry should’ve known.

Harry balks at him, lifting his phone a little higher and Liam watches the way Louis’ fingers ball into a fist, stifles a laugh because he knows Louis is deathly serious.

“My phone?”

“Your _iPhone_.  We do not support Apple,” Louis tells him, his voice slightly condescending.

Actually, Liam does but he’s Louis’ best mate so Louis learned to accept this a long time ago.

“Why not?” Harry asks, confusion settling into his husky voice.

“Because we don’t,” Louis says back, eyes narrowing into small slits that hide that blueness.  “They’re shit.”

Harry snorts, tossing his head back and those curls bounce with every movement.  “You’re full of it.”

“Am not,” Louis scoffs, pulling out his own phone from his back pocket.  He thrusts it toward Harry but Niall’s still in the middle, waning back and forth and ready to catch Louis if he leaps at Harry.  Or if Harry decides to knock Louis on his ass.

“Android.”

“Apple is far more exceptional,” Harry argues kindly.

“Blasphemy!” Louis shouts back, shaking his phone at Harry.

“You’re serious?” Harry asks him, taken aback by the redness in Louis’ cheeks, the curl of his lips.

“Deadly.”

“But Apple – “

“Is a shit company with inferior products and the fact that you fancy them over the Android makes me question whether you’re as brilliant as I thought you were,” Louis says, his words colliding but Harry catches it all, nodding slowly before gaping at Louis.

“You thought I was brilliant?” Harry asks slowly, his brow lifted and that quiet shade of pink starts to run across his cheeks again.

Louis bites at his lips, his eyes going wide because, shit, he probably said too much.  Liam knows he has but he doesn’t help him out.  The little shit deserves this.

“You’re okay,” Louis lies, waving Harry off before pocketing his phone again.  “Just don’t try to tell me that Apple has better apps or some shit like that.”

“But they do,” Harry says lowly like he’s still confused by what just happened.

“I just love my Blackberry,” Niall says with a shrug, flinching when Louis’ head jerks in his direction.

“Your hair is different,” Zayn says softly and Liam startles, head snapping in Zayn’s direction.

He’s not certain when Zayn eased around the SUV, when he got close enough to stand next to Liam but he’s overcome by those eyes, the quirk to Zayn’s lips, the way he smells like cigarettes but that’s only masking the lingering scent of something sweet and intoxicating.  It’s something like vanilla and peaches and Liam takes in a few extra breaths just to be sure.

Liam unconsciously drags his fingers through the top of his hair, toying with the ends.

“It’s longer,” Zayn adds, his own fingers joining Liam’s and Liam can’t swallow when their fingers brush over each other in his hair, Zayn’s thumb swiping over Liam’s hairline.  He feels blush rut against his skin, his thumb edging over Zayn’s index finger.

He’s motionless for a few beats, letting Zayn’s long fingers comb through his hair, run over the back of Liam’s fingers, pull the strands of hair into a small quiff before he’s tugging roughly on the ends.  Liam winces a little, tries not to wonder if that would feel good with Zayn pounding into him on Liam’s bed.

“Are you trying to look like me?” Zayn asks with narrowed eyes, a small curl to his upper lip.

Liam balks at him, jerks back until Zayn’s arm drops to his side, head shaking.

“Fuck off,” Liam whispers, shouldering past Zayn.

Liam moves to get into the passenger seat, fiddling with the seatbelt for too long before he’s got it on. He drags his fingers over the back of his head, frustration mounting and he thinks he hears Zayn say, “It looks nice, Liam,” but he’s not certain.  He’s too busying trying to forget how warm Zayn’s fingers were, the way his spine tingled, those stupid butterflies flapping their gigantic in his stomach when Zayn looked at him like the world had fallen away and it was just Zayn and him.

Maybe a weekend at home wouldn’t be such a bad idea after all, not if it meant he wouldn’t have to think about Zayn and the way he hates him.  Or the way he hates himself for wanting that touch to linger on him a little longer.

**

Liam prides himself on being organized, reasonable with his decisions.  He blames part of that on his mum, the way she always dotted on him because he was the youngest – though he’s almost certain Ruth and Nicola got it a lot tougher because they were girls and mothers are very particular about their daughters – but she did it all with a smile, her voice soft and caring rather than nagging.  Still, she was very calculated in everything she did.  His father is that way too, to a point, but he was a perfectionist, detailed in the way he went about achieving goals.  Liam laughs to himself because, yeah, he’s like that too.

He has a list of things they need typed out on his phone, mentally checking off each item as he, Zayn, and Niall stroll slowly down the aisles of the supermarket.  Niall’s pushing the cart, humming lowly and bopping along to whatever soft rock was filtering through the overhead speakers in the store – _the Cranberries_ , Liam thinks, which is definitely the kind of music Louis would listen to; Niall too but only because they were Irish – while Zayn follows lazily behind Liam, dragging his fingers over a few items while inspecting what Liam drops in the cart.

“Granola bars?” Zayn asks, making a face when Liam drops two boxes into the cart.

“What’s wrong with that?” Liam questions over his shoulder, his face pinching.

Zayn sighs loudly, reaching past Liam to snatch up a box of Rice Krispies Treats, tossing them behind his shoulder and Niall laughs at the way they thump into the cart, denting one of the granola bar boxes before tumbling on top of the case of bottled water Liam lifted up earlier.

“Why are you such a health nut?” Zayn wonders, reaching for a bag of chocolate chip cookies.

Liam thinks to slap his hand away but, well, he loves those damn cookies too much.

“What do you mean?” Liam finally asks, stopping to fold his arms over his chest.

Zayn arches an eyebrow, offering him an incredulous look before doing a large sweeping motion with his arms over the cart.

Liam shrugs, doesn’t really see the problem with a bag of apples, some oranges, a few protein bars, a loaf of bread, a jar of peanut butter – no jam because, well, no, Liam hates that stuff – a box of herbal tea – Louis prefers regular English breakfast tea but Liam’s making a compromise because Niall doesn’t – a bag of crisps for Niall, water, a few low-calorie microwavable dishes, and an oven-ready lasagna because Liam knows they’re all shit in the kitchen.

“What’s your point?” Liam asks, his voice dragging and flat.

Zayn looks at him pointedly, head shaking.  “Is this really what you expect us to survive on?”

Liam feels his shoulders tense, eyes narrowed at Zayn.  “And what do you suggest?  Chocolate and cigarettes?”

Zayn snorts, shrugging one of his shoulders.  “It’s a start.”

“I like pizza,” Niall offers, pushing the cart further down the aisle while snatching up a bag of lemon bars, another bag of crisps, a box of graham crackers, and a few bars of chocolate.

“What aisle are the marshmallows on?” Niall wonders aloud, keeping his eyes from Zayn and Liam who are glaring at each other openly.

“You don’t have to be such a prick about it,” Liam mumbles as they move down another aisle, grabbing a case of root beer along with a few lemons for the tea.

Zayn rolls his eyes, reaching up to pluck a box of biscuits for Harry from a shelf before dropping a case of Coke and a bag of peach candies into the cart.  Liam makes a face that Zayn shrugs at, reaching out to flick the end of Liam’s nose.

“You’re a twit,” Liam hisses, leaning back.

“And you’re a pretentious sport who is more focused on being popular rather than being normal,” Zayn says right back, yanking a couple of energy drinks from another shelf and tossing them into the cart.

Liam gasps, plucking them back from the cart but Zayn’s nicking them from his fingers just as quickly, easing them back into the cart.

“That shit is awful,” Liam snaps, stocking the cart with a carton of milk and that stupid bag of marshmallows Niall wanted – no doubt for S’mores or just to snack on because Niall was the kind of guy who could go through a bag of anything without a care.

Zayn pushes the beanie on his head back a little, pieces of his hair visible and Liam catches that fading blonde streak, the one that’s light brown now.  There’s an exhale pushed past Zayn’s lips and they quirk as if to say something, but he doesn’t.  He looks far from apologetic when he drops another energy drink into the cart for good measure.

Liam sighs, letting Zayn drop a box of ladyfingers into the cart before dragging a hand down his face, Niall singing softly behind them – _Oh, my life is changing every day in every possible way. And oh, my dreams, it’s never quite as it seems._   He hopes Louis and Harry aren’t fighting like this but he’s more than sure that Louis’ probably already filled up two boxes with alcohol he and Harry both like, so he reaches for a carton of orange juice and some fruity juice to mix it all with because he knows Louis.  The fridge will be stocked with beer, bottles of liquor everywhere and nothing to chase it all with.

“You didn’t used to be a jerk,” Liam tells him lowly, ignoring the way a few of the shoppers eye them as Liam tries to snatch a box of brownies from Zayn’s fingers because, really, who the fuck was going to bake while away in a cabin?

“And you didn’t use to be like this,” Zayn hisses back, jerking his arm back and they’re face to face now, breathing in each other’s leftover oxygen with eyes squinting and brows pulled together.

Liam inhales deeply, tries not to watch the way Zayn’s tongue runs briefly over his lips, the salvia left behind leaving them shiny and inviting.

No, _not_ fucking inviting because there’s a grin on them that makes Liam want to punch Zayn in the face.  Or kiss him.  Probably more of the former, but still.

“Like _what_?” Liam asks, pulling back.  He gives in when Niall reaches over them, snatching away the box of brownies from Zayn.

“Do we need eggs for these?” Niall asks, but Zayn and Liam ignore him, steely glares still holding.

“Like… like,” Zayn struggles, his cheeks flushed and there’s a hint of frustration rimming his eyes, ruling his expression.  “Not like _Liam_ ,” he finally spits out, turning away from Liam before stomping down another aisle, flipping Liam off on the way.

Liam swallows a sigh, eyeing that spot Zayn once stood in.  He drags his teeth over his lip, fingers still clenched into fists.  His foot is tapping on the ground, anger residing just below his belly but there’s something aching dully against his chest.  His mind is fuzzy, fraying at the ends, and he wants to chase Zayn down.  He wants to remind Zayn that he’s not the one who became an asshole, self-centered, so bent on making everyone else feel ashamed for having friends, for being popular – whatever the hell that word meant in this life because he’s certain it was just another way of classifying people who were different or _‘elite’_ even though that feeling was impossible when, no matter what anyone says, you always feel inadequate in some way – and he wants to shake Zayn, remind him that just because you play football, hang around a group of people, and don’t sit around writing fucking poetry doesn’t mean you’ve changed.  It means you’re… trying to change how you feel about _yourself_.

Niall pats his shoulder as he passes, the wheels of the cart dragging against the cheap tile of the supermarket floor.  It’s not comforting though Liam knows it’s meant to be and all he can hear against the numbing thoughts in his mind is Niall’s soft, warming voice telling him he’s wrong – _I know I’ve felt like this before but now I’m feeling it even more because it came from you._

**

Liam lets Louis drive most of the way, mainly because Liam still doesn’t have his license and because Louis knows the way, almost unwillingly letting Harry drive the last hour because Louis starts yawning and Niall’s already passed out in the backseat.  The ride is mostly silent except for a few hushed whispers between Harry and Zayn while Liam and Louis trade off singing their way through whatever’s playing on the radio.  Liam tries not to watch Zayn through the rearview mirror, ignores the fact that Zayn watches him too with an almost amused expression that leaves Liam twitching and dragging his fingers roughly through his hair.

Louis gives him a look a few times like he knows, but Louis always knows.  Since they were a bit younger, Louis has always had some sort of sixth sense when it came to Liam.  Liam’s not truly sure what it is, but Louis can figure out Liam’s thoughts without trying, knows when his body needs to rest because he’s been pushing himself too hard and he only has one kidney, so overworking himself isn’t really an option.  But it’s something he does and Louis admonishes him before forcing him to relax when he senses Liam needs it.  And when Liam’s uncertain about something, nervous, even when there’s a hint of feeling for another person, Louis knows it.

And Louis knows there’s something up with Liam.  His fingers tighten around the wheel and his eyebrow lifts at Liam, blue eyes searching the mirror for Zayn, lips curling into a smile.  Liam wants to tell him it’s nothing because it’s not.  Honestly, it’s _not_.  He still hates Zayn.  Passionately.  Instead he turns the dial on the radio, easing up the volume so he can’t hear Harry whispering to Zayn or that little chuckle Zayn lets out, staring at Liam in the mirror – _Hey now, hey now. Don’t dream it’s over. Hey now, when the world comes in._

“Do you think he,” Louis starts and Liam’s looking out the window, watching the sun start to fade away behind pinkish skies.

“I don’t care,” Liam replies flatly, tapping his fingers along the dashboard.

“But if he is, would you?” Louis asks, chewing at his lip with a smile.

Liam inhales roughly, eyes still on the passing trees.  “No.”

“Really?”

“Really Lou,” Liam whispers, his nose wrinkling because he can smell Zayn from behind him, that swirl of peaches and vanilla overwhelming.  He fucking hates the way his heart races at that – _They come to build a wall between us._

“Liar.”

Liam wants to tell him to fuck off but he’s biting at his tongue.  Maybe he is a liar but he won’t admit it to Louis.  Or Zayn.  Or, well, himself either.

**

Louis’ family’s cabin is incredible.

Liam hasn’t seen it since he was thirteen and his family invited Liam’s family to join them one summer.  It looks updated, like strict attention was given to every detail of it to make it current and a tad bit flashier.  There’s tall grass to one side of it, not nearly as green as it would be during the spring but it still looks like a perfect stretch of land to run through with a dog or mates.  There are trees everywhere, some still hanging onto their leaves and needles while others are barren, casting deep shadows over the land below.  There’s a background symphony of crickets, small animals chasing each other, Niall singing ‘Lions, Tigers, and Bears’ lowly while Harry yawns, tossing an arm around Zayn’s shoulders to pull him close.  What’s left of the sun reflects off the large picturesque windows on the side, Liam dragging his fingers over the smooth wood on the outside as they climb the steps to the door.

The living area is small and simple with a sectional couch, two large and fluffy chairs around a coffee table.  There’s a flat screen, a Wii console and a DVD player along with a fireplace.  There’s a glass door leading to the terrace with a wooden table and a few chairs next to the railing that overlooks the rocky hill behind the cabin.  There’s a kitchen that’s simple enough that Liam knows they couldn’t possible burn the place down – well, unless they let Louis or Niall try to cook something  – and another door leading outside to a private hot tub that Liam grins weakly at because, well, it’s November but he’s certain that Louis will find a reason to use it anyway.

There’s a single room downstairs with a twin bed, one other bedroom upstairs along with the master which has an en-suite and a private bathroom.  The other room has twin beds and, without meaning to, Liam does the math and knows someone will be crashing on the couch.  Everything is detailed in wood, some dull while other pieces of the wood is slick with a finish.  There’s already linen and towels laid out and Liam guesses Louis’ parents already stocked most of the place with basic foods and had someone come in and tidy things up before they arrived.

“This place is fantastic,” Harry says, his deep voice echoing off the high ceilings as he turns around in circles slowly.  He makes a whistling sound – or he attempts to, poorly – before grinning at Louis, innocence defined.  There’s that wavering pink tinting his cheeks before he’s adding, “This should be loads of fun.”

“Always is,” Louis chimes, winking at Harry as he moves around him, dropping the first box of liquor and a six pack of lager on the dining table.

“Have the girls gotten in yet?” Niall wonders, sweeping by with a few bags of the groceries.

“El says they’re about an hour away,” Louis tells him, pulling another box of alcohol from Liam’s arms.

Liam decides to leave their bags in the car for the time being, putting away some of the groceries because he knows if he doesn’t, no one will.

“There’s a hot tub!” Harry calls out from outside and Liam can hear the grin in his voice.  Harry peeks his head inside, cheeks pushed up with large eyes.  “Did you guys know there was a hot tub?”

“It’s November,” Liam says flatly but Louis’ waving him off just as quickly.

“Don’t worry if you didn’t bring any swimwear.  We usually just go in your boxers… or _nothing_.” Louis has a sneer in his voice, blue eyes twinkling as he looks on Harry and Harry’s nodding instantly, teeth gripping at his bottom lip like a boy.  Well, technically, he still _is_ a boy to Liam but he looks sheepish and youthful all at once.

Zayn snorts, dropping a few more bags of groceries on the table before helping Liam put away a few items.  Liam eyes him with distrust but Zayn shrugs by him, putting away some of Liam’s fruit before ducking down to shelve the sodas and orange juice.  Liam wonders if he has an agenda or this is his way of apologizing for being a complete ass at the supermarket but he doesn’t get a chance to ask because Zayn’s humming lowly and ignoring Liam’s existence for the remainder of the time they’re in the kitchen.

“The stars are really twinkling out there.  And, fuck, there’s a fireplace.  Have you seen the _bathroom_?” Harry rattles off, that grin still lifted high.

_He’s a complete hipster_ , Liam thinks, grinning with his arms folded while leaning against the counter.  He can’t help the way his own smile spreads over his face, laughing lowly as Harry drags his fingers over the soft material of the couch, fiddles with the Wii before moving over to one of the chairs, plopping down onto it.

“You should see the master bathroom,” Louis says coolly, his brow lifted while looking on Harry.  “It’s brilliant.  Shower built for two.”

Liam rubs at his shoulder, wants to tell Louis to stop but he knows better.  Louis’ very determined once he puts his mind to something – which is rare enough – and Liam figures Harry should know what he’s getting into, idolizing someone like Louis Tomlinson.  Best mate or not, Louis is ruthless when it comes to someone he’s interested in.

“Which reminds me – the sleeping arrangements,” Louis announces, settling down onto the couch with his feet kicked up on the coffee table.

“I’ll take the couch,” Harry offers, blind to the small frown that crosses Louis’ lips.

Liam’s fairly sure Louis was hoping Harry would sleep in the master bedroom with him, which could quite possibly turn rather awkward considering Eleanor is no doubt set on trying to renew things with Louis as much as Louis was supposed to be rekindling things with her.  But their relationship, or more so Louis, was far too confusing for him to understand and he’d stop trying to months ago.

“Fine,” Louis drags out, turning to the others.  “Niall can take the room down here.  Which leaves my sisters’ old room for – “

It dawns on Liam before Louis can finish and he’s throwing his hands up instantly.

“Wait, no,” Liam demands, pushing off the counter.

Harry blinks at Louis, then Liam, confusion resting in his eyes.  Zayn merely chews at his bottom lip, his arms folding across his chest.

“You and Zayn can share that room,” Louis tells him, his voice even when Liam approaches the couch.

“No, we _can’t_ ,” Liam says with a hiss, guilt immediately setting in when Zayn narrows his eyes, teeth tugging at the corner of his lip now.  “I mean, well, why don’t Zayn and Harry share that room?  I can sleep on the couch.”

“Not a good idea,” Zayn says dryly, his eyes immediately fleeing Liam’s when Liam looks on him.

“I tend to snore rather loudly,” Harry informs them, fingers tugging loosely at his curls.  “I’m good on the couch.”

“Then Niall and I – “

“Nope,” Niall insists, falling onto the couch next to Louis.  “I’m not spending this weekend dealing with you chewing me out for being untidy.”

Niall’s right.  He’s a complete slob and Liam, well, he’s a bit of a neat freak.  Not on purpose, but he can’t really help himself.  He likes things organized, set into the right place, doesn’t care for dirty underwear strewn across the floor or empty beer cans crunching under his feet as he tries to move around a room.  Niall doesn’t give a shit as long as he can find his bed in it all, hurricane or not.

Zayn sighs lowly, dragging his fingers through his hair which doesn’t move much, a feat Liam’s quite impressed with.  He feels stupid about that, cheeks heating when Zayn eyes him curiously.  He kicks at a leg of the coffee table, shaking Louis rather than apologizing to Zayn because this is, well, awkward.  And uncomfortable.  Plus he’s a dick for making such a big deal about rooming with Zayn.  But it’s _Zayn_.  The same Zayn that Liam couldn’t stand to talk to for five minutes.  And the same Zayn that’s given him an erection, _twice_.  Not intentionally, but that didn’t matter.

“I can sleep in the car,” Zayn offers lowly, dragging his foot against the ground.

Louis looks taken aback, Niall gapes at Liam, and Harry shakes his head.  Louis’ head snaps in Liam’s direction, eyes small and purposeful and, fuck, even Liam feels a bit gutted.  But, no, this is Zayn.  It’s… he sighs lowly, drops the thoughts away before crossing around the coffee table, pulling Zayn’s bag from his shoulder before Zayn can protest.  He pinches the hem of Zayn’s shirt, tugging on it until Zayn’s reluctantly following Liam up the stairs and around the corner to Louis’ sisters’ old room.

Liam drops Zayn’s bag on the first bed, not bothering to look back to see if Zayn’s followed him all the way into the room.  He can smell him even if he’s trying not to, falling down onto the bed closest to the window.  He toes off his shoes, scoots back before folding his arms behind his head, glancing to the doorway where Zayn’s leaning, eyes on the floor.

Yeah, this weekend is going to be quite horrible.

“Why Harry?” Liam asks after a long minute, his brown eyes flitting from Zayn when Zayn finally lifts his head.

“What?”

“Why Harry,” Liam repeats, his teeth pulling in his lip.  He crosses his legs at the ankles, settling into the fluffy pillows while looking up at the angled ceiling.  He likes the faded wood, the slant, the way it brings the room in closer.

Zayn finally eases into the room, sitting on a corner of his bed.  He folds his hands in his lap, shoulders slumping forward with his elbows on his knees.

“Since I’ve known him, he doesn’t treat anyone different.  Everyone’s the same, to him at least.  The kid is just genuine about everything,” Zayn explains, his voice tethered and low.  “He’s a little annoying and the massively awful at trying to tell a story but then he likes some of the same things I like.  And he doesn’t make me feel like an asshole for being myself.”

“He’s nothing like Danny and Ant,” Liam says offhandedly.

“He’s _not_ ,” Zayn says coldly.

Liam nods slowly, unaffected by Zayn’s tone.  He still refuses to look at him though the biggest part of him wants to just to see if he can pick out a new color in Zayn’s eyes.  Maybe they’re a rusted brown now, possibly that pale shade of olive they usually are in bright lights.  Fuck, why does he know that?

“He’s a good mate, you know.  You just have to get to know him.  Chat with him for a while to see he’s a complete dork and that’s okay.  He’s okay with that,” Zayn adds, dragging fingers through his hair again.  Liam catches the way the hair shifts this time from the corner of his eye, smiling to himself.  Zayn ignores that to say, “I don’t know why he fancies that Tomlinson, though.  Maybe he likes douchebags.”

“Louis is not a douche,” Liam argues softly, his brow wrinkling.  He’s trying to count the different shades of tan and brown in the wood rather than turning his head in Zayn’s direction.  He’s doing a fairly decent job at that.

Zayn snorts, leaning back a little.  “Come on, Liam.  We’ve known the guy for how long?”

Louis might be a douche, maybe a tad self-absorbed but only Liam gets to call him that.  Not assholes like Zayn who never give anyone a chance.  No one except for Harry Styles it would seem.

“He’s a good guy.  Best mate I’ve got,” Liam replies, his voice soft but purposeful.

“Yes, well, I’ve warned Harry about the whole thing,” Zayn says, shrugging his shoulders.

“Are you and Harry like, um, like a,” Liam pauses, turns his head a little to see the wrinkles in Zayn’s brow, the way his eyes are getting a little wide, “are you two, like that?”

Zayn laughs, full on and he’s nearly tipping backwards.  It’s the first time Liam thinks he’s seen Zayn smile like that since, well, since they were kids.  His eyes crinkle right around the edges, his cheeks pushed up high, his nose wrinkling and he’s sort of adorable, except Liam thinks nothing about Zayn could possibly be adorable.  Or tolerable.

Zayn’s hand is on his chest, little giggles still passing by his lips, and Liam sees the way Zayn’s lashes stick to the small tears lining his eyes.  Liam scrunches his own nose, bites at a smile because Zayn doesn’t deserve to see it.

“Hazza and me?” Zayn asks through another laugh.  Liam gives him a small nod before Zayn’s saying, “Not a chance.”  He’s leaning forward, eyes narrowing but the corners of his mouth are curving with his smile before he’s asking, “Why Liam?  Would you be jealous?”

_Yes_ , he thinks but his voice goes flat when he says, “No.”

Zayn nods, leaning back.  The smile is starting to fade a little, something serious curving over his expression.

“Didn’t even know you were into guys,” Zayn notes, shrugging a shoulder.

“Who said I was?”

Zayn gives him a look of disbelief, one that wounds Liam just a little.  Zayn doesn’t know anything.

“It’s okay, I mean, if you are,” Zayn says, his voice low like fingers plucking at acoustic guitar strings.  He swallows, his brown eyes teetering on Liam’s hands, his ankles, over his rising and falling chest.  “I am.  Definitely into guys.  Girls too, but, yeah, _definitely_ guys.  Have been.  But I guess you knew that.”

Liam did, not that he ever discussed it with Zayn.  He heard the whispers, the way some of his classmates had given Zayn shit about it when they found out he’d snogged some chap from another school at a coffee shop.  He heard the way Zayn’s father made a fuss about it, nearly kicked Zayn out until Liam’s mum talked with Zayn’s parents.  She didn’t tell Liam about it but he’d overheard the conversation from the banister, his heart nearly stopping because, wow, _Zayn liked guys_.  He _kissed_ one.  And the world made him feel awful about it.

Liam wonders if it was because he was Zayn Malik and not anyone else.  It’s not that Liam made a big deal about telling the world he could possibly like guys too but none of his teammates ever gave him shit when they found out.  They slapped him on the back, warned him to be careful, hugged him and promised him he was still the same Liam Payne they’d known since he was the smallest kid on the team just trying to fit in.  And maybe it was because Zayn was different, closed off from most of them.  Shut away from Liam.

He wonders sometimes if Zayn had told him would it have been different.  Maybe he would’ve hugged Zayn like that, rubbed calming fingers into Zayn’s back until Zayn stopped shaking, stopped feeling like he was wrong for this uncontrollable feeling.  It makes him a little sick, fingers trembling, and he wonders if Zayn would’ve done the same for him?  He wonders if Zayn could’ve been his first kiss, the one to show him why all of this was okay even if, deep down, Liam still wasn’t sure if it was.

“Not that big of a deal to me,” Liam finally says, trying to sound aloof but he feels Zayn’s eyes on him again.  He tries to ignore the way they make his skin burn and shiver at the same time.

He can hear the stereo downstairs, smiling to himself because he knows this song.  He remembers cuddling up to Niall and Louis on Louis’ couch back home, laughing all the way through _Take Me Home Tonight_ until Niall suggested they create their own ball to ride, which Liam balked at and Louis actually considered it.  He chews at his bottom lip – _When people keep repeating that you’ll never fall in love. When everyone keeps retreating, but you can’t seem to get enough. Let my love open the door._

“What happened?” Zayn asks lowly, leaning forward again with shoulders hunching.

Liam swallows slowly, tries to piece together Zayn’s words but he thinks he knows what Zayn’s trying to say.  He doesn’t want to say it too.  Part of him has always wondered where their friendship went, if there ever was one.  He thinks there was, but it was the kind of dream built into adolescence.

“You stopped liking people like me,” Liam says flatly, a breathy sigh treading behind his words.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Zayn declares, his voice stiff.  “I didn’t.”

Liam nods, eyes rolling.  “No, that’s right.  I became a ‘ _sport.’_   I became the asshole.”

“You did.”

“Whatever, Zayn.  I don’t judge people – “

Zayn laughs, the sound cold and vicious but there’s something like a sting underneath it.  There’s a shifting pain and Liam can’t help but turn his eyes on Zayn again, a frown pulling at his lips.

“You don’t judge?  _You_ don’t?  Your whole group of friends are built on judgment.  On being this circle of twats who would rather hate the rest of us for being different rather than realizing you’re the ones who are different,” Zayn spits out, his fingers digging into the fabric of his jeans, his upper lip curling.

“I don’t judge people.  And I don’t hate anyone,” Liam argues, swinging his legs off the bed.  He sits up, his brow setting while his fingers tighten into fists.

Liam doesn’t hate anyone.  Except maybe Zayn Malik but he can’t help that.

Zayn scoffs at him, a taunting laugh following.  “No, you’re Liam Payne.  You’re sweet, kind, innocent.  Fuck, you’re probably some sort of angel that fell from the heavens and you’re an unfortunate victim of your surroundings.”

“Zayn, you,” Liam pauses, eyes shutting because he can feel the anger sizzling through his skin – _When everything feels all over. Everybody seems unkind._ He drags his hands over his trousers, wipes away the sweat before batting his eyes open, watching the way Zayn pushes off the bed, pulls a pack of cigarettes from his back pocket.

“You don’t have to say it,” Zayn tells him, his voice still stiff and condescending.  “You’ve done a proper job not saying anything to me for quite a long time, Liam.”

Liam feels something swell high and tight in his chest.  The anger is rushed beneath a wave of guilt and, fuck, he wants to pull Zayn back.  He wants to drag Zayn into his bed, fasten his arms around him, and swallow him with just his embrace.  He wants to whisper to him like when they were younger, tell him secrets that he’s kept beneath that perfect layer of being this guy most of his mates tolerated because he was Liam, or because he was Louis’ best mate.  And he wants Zayn to tell him how much he doesn’t hate Liam because, unfortunately, Liam doesn’t think he honestly hates Zayn that much.

Not as much as he once did.

Zayn’s stomping out of the room before Liam can think to say anything.  And he hates that.  He hates that Zayn’s so good at leaving him without letting Liam say anything.  He hates that Zayn still thinks he’s some sort of elite prick who doesn’t give a shit if Zayn exists or not.  No, because Liam feels that way enough.  He doesn’t need a reminder from Zayn Malik that he’s not quite the person he wants to be.

He doesn’t need Zayn fucking Malik to make him feel like shit.  He’s doing well enough with that on his own.

**

“Shots!” Louis bellows out, sidling up to the couch that Harry’s laid across with his feet in Niall’s lap while Niall tries to navigate his way through Mario Kart.

“Shots?” Niall asks, eyebrow lifted but his eyes remain on the flat screen.

“Shots,” Louis drags out with a grin, fingers tickling over Harry’s ribs until his feet kick and nearly knock the controller out of Niall’s hand.

“ _No_.  Definitely, no,” Liam says but there’s a smile breaking on his lips when Harry peeks his head up with a wild grin.

Maybe he needs the alcohol to settle his system.  Or the tension that’s seemed to linger around ever since Zayn came back in from huffing down a cigarette, dragging the scent of nicotine into the cabin before he was hiking up the steps.  He did well at ignoring the pointed looks Louis gave him but he couldn’t hide from Harry’s frown or the way Niall made a humming noise when Liam didn’t say anything about it all.

“But Liam,” Louis whines, shifting his fingers through Harry’s curls like he was a puppy.  “We _need_ shots.”

“And beer,” Niall adds, cheeks spreading with that rosy smirk.

“We have beer.”

“Not the kind I like,” Niall notes, a finger raised and Liam’s sighing, settling down onto the couch with Harry leaning back against him.

Harry’s warm, his body not quite at the right angle but Liam doesn’t mind for some reason.  He’s all limbs and bones but Liam leans into that warmth, watching the way Louis’ fingers pull through those curls like he’s done it a thousand times before.  It looks almost… _natural_.

“Oh, we should do vodka bombs,” Louis squeaks out, his oceanic eyes an unsettling brightness that makes Liam panic.

Louis’ ideas were never the most brilliant ones Liam’s ever heard.  Imaginative, but far from sane.

“Jägerbombs are better,” Niall says offhandedly, stretching across the couch to try and control the game but he’s awful at it.

Liam snorts at him, Harry chuckling lowly before resting his head on Liam’s shoulder.

“Horan, Jäger is quite horrible,” Louis declares, flicking a finger against the back of Niall’s neck.

Niall flinches, flipping Louis off without looking at him and he loses terribly.  He sighs, pushing off the couch but not before Harry lifts his feet from his lap.

“Whatever.  How far is the nearest liquor store?” Niall asks, slipping his snapback on his head.

“About a twenty minute drive,” Liam says, slouching into the couch.

“Perfect,” Louis declares, clapping his hands together.  “We need shot glasses.”

“And beer,” Niall adds with intention.

Louis rolls his eyes, waving Niall off.  “And beer for the lad from Mullingar.”

“Prick,” Niall mutters with a tight grin.

Louis’ nose scrunches when he smirks back.

“Do you want me to go with?” Liam offers, perking up a little.

Louis shakes his head, running his eyes briskly over Harry before smiling loosely.  “Stay.  Keep Styles entertained.  Ni and I got it.”

Liam deflates a little, wants to argue it’s his father’s SUV so he should be there.  He doesn’t feel like explaining to his father that that oh so loveable Louis wrecked the truck on an alcohol run.  He tries to disguise his frown from Harry while Niall shrugs uncaringly, swiping the keys up from the coffee table.  Louis pulls on his jumper, patting Harry’s head as he passes and Liam thinks he sees that blush heating Harry’s cheeks again, his dimple flaring and he’s grinning at Louis when they stumble out the door, arguing over who’s going to drive.

“Should we go get Zayn?” Liam wonders when the cabin falls into a lulling silence, the crickets outside clicking a little louder than before.

Harry shakes his head, curls bouncing.  “He likes his alone time.  Probably having a kip.”

Liam nods, suppressing the words in his throat.  He knows Harry’s doing the same and they’re both avoiding talking about it.  Liam knows it, can sense it in the way Harry’s shoulder tense, his fingers picking at the fabric of his jeans.  Liam drums his fingers along his thigh, glancing over his shoulder for a brief second.  He chews on his thumbnail and tells himself he doesn’t want to climb those stairs, settle into the bed across from Zayn and watch him sleep.  He doesn’t want to know if Zayn still looks like a complete prick while he sleeps or if he looks like an angel.

He sighs to himself because Zayn’s probably the latter and that sight alone will ruin Liam.

Liam likes Harry.  He’s funny, not like Niall is because Niall is blatant with his jokes while Harry’s are like an undertow in the way they sweep you away.  Zayn’s right – he’s shit at telling stories and it takes him forever but Liam likes the tone of his voice, the way it drags across his ears.  He starts everything with, _“I just, you know, like,”_ but Liam adjusts to it because he knows he probably says “brilliant” and “fantastic” far too much – Louis once told him that even though Liam knows Louis does it just as much.

Harry has great taste in music, even though Liam’s not certain he knows half the bands Harry lists off.  He’s into Nirvana and classic rock like Queen and Jimi Hendrix.  He likes Muse and Pasion Pit – whom Liam doesn’t think he really knows but nods along to when Harry starts to sing a few of their songs – and he doesn’t balk at Liam when he says he enjoys Bruno Mars or Jay Z, even Chris Brown.  They both love Oasis and Harry’s looking at him in awe when Liam sings a few verses of ‘Stop Crying Your Heart Out’ lowly, clapping loudly when Liam finishes, blush riding Liam’s cheeks as he tries to stop Harry.

They both hate English, had a small fondness for History even though Liam’s quite shit about it but he loves all the stories of how things happened.  Harry’s quite obsessed with Greek Mythology – “Zayn, he sort of reminds me a little of Aphrodite.  Don’t ask me why.  And Louis, fuck, he’s like Ares or something.  He just, I don’t know, fucking _owns_ everything with a passion.” – while Liam chats about playing football and his desire to be a fireman one day.  Harry goes on about traveling the world one day, a dream Liam thinks Harry will achieve.

They laugh about the things Niall does – “Can you believe he begged the teacher to be excused from class because he forgot his donuts in his locker?” – and Liam’s quiet when Harry goes on about Zayn, the way he admires him, wishes he could be as brilliant as Zayn, the way Zayn is always so focused when he’s writing.  Liam nods slowly, his heart thumping so loud against his chest he’s sure that Harry can hear it.  But Harry’s wide-eyed innocence, hands moving as he talks about the way Zayn’s quiet but thoughtful and honest with Harry, even when he doesn’t ask for it.  Liam agrees silently, chewing his bottom lip until it’s sore, his fingertips burning with some wicked need to run against Zayn’s because that warm feeling he had earlier still lingered like smoke in the air against his mind.

Harry confesses to liking boys most of his life though he’s chatted up his fair share of women, mostly older, throughout the years.  He talks like he’s twenty-five when he’s merely seventeen and Liam grins at that natural maturity that clings to Harry.  He chews on his nail, rubbing gently at Harry’s shoulder when Harry talks about his sister Gemma and his parents’ divorce when he was younger.  Harry loves his stepdad; it hangs in his voice, the way those green eyes shimmer when he talks about the way he taught Harry how to drive, the way he encourages Harry to try anything even if it means missing out on University.  Liam holds onto a sigh, wishes he could say the same about his own father.  His stomach tightens, his fingers numb now and he wants to crawl inside of himself for envying Harry.  But he does, without question.

Harry explains all of his tattoos, the ones scattered over his arms, his chest, a ridiculously large butterfly on his stomach – which is a bit silly but Liam just smiles at it – and it makes as much sense as all the ones Louis has, which mean nothing.  But Liam grins, running his fingers over a few of them and he’s slightly impressed by the meaning behind a few.  Harry toys with the few Liam has, giggling at the large feather on the inside of Liam’s wrist and Liam tries not to turn a hauntingly scarlet hue when Harry talks about the wings on Zayn’s chest, offering his theory on soul mates and Liam’s a little thrown by that conversation, then again, he thinks he’s more than a little shocked by half the things that come out of Harry’s mouth.

Liam’s quiet when he talks about the way things used to be, before secondary school, before football and the friends he has now.  Before Niall came to town, before Zayn forgot he existed.  He smiles softly, looking down at his hands when he talks about the way Zayn lit up when his youngest sister, Safaa, was born.  He drags his thumb over the palm of his hand when he talks about the way Zayn used to run up to him, backpack full of books weighing his small frame down, making him nearly topple over when he stood still.  He would go on about a new song his older sister, Doniya, introduced him to and sing it softly for Liam until Liam fell in love with it even though he only knew what it sounded like when it came from Zayn.  He stutters when he talks about the weeks when he and Zayn didn’t speak, the years spent with Zayn hating Liam and everyone around him.

“He doesn’t hate you,” Harry says lowly, rubbing at Liam’s thigh with a quiet smile.  “I don’t think he knows you anymore.”

Liam nods, biting at the corner of his lip.  He doesn’t know Zayn either.  It doesn’t make Zayn being a complete wanker any easier to swallow.  He doesn’t know if Harry was even trying to make him feel better but it stings right along the left side of his body.  He quietly changes the subject because he can’t afford to spend the rest of the night thinking about Zayn.  He knows he’ll have to do that the rest of the weekend until they’re back in Wolverhampton and far from this cabin that suddenly feels so suffocating.

When Niall and Louis return, they’re unpacking a line of shot glasses, beer glasses, and a few cases of beer.  Louis’ pulling some of the alcohol from the cupboards, Niall scrambling to stock the table with all of those damn energy drinks Zayn bought earlier.  Harry’s lining everything up, humming lowly with a smile on his face and his socks are sliding along the hardwood as he moves.  Zayn’s cuddled into a corner of the couch, yawning and averting his eyes each time Liam looks at him, offering Zayn a smile that Zayn never returns.

Eleanor comes by with Cher, Perrie, and Phoebe in tow.  Greg shows up also, Jay and Tom tagging along even though Liam’s more than a little sure Louis doesn’t care for them too much.  Liam is still amazed at how beautiful Eleanor is with her wavy brown hair, high cheekbones, doe brown eyes that are always dripping with life, and that curvy smile that Liam snickers at because as sweet as she looks, she’s ruthless with her humor like Louis is.  He’s not quite sure why she’s lingered around so long for Louis but he thinks it’s probably because she’s always sort of been helplessly in love with Louis.  She doesn’t tell anyone except Liam and her cheeks always flush a gorgeous pink when Louis calls her “babe.”

Perrie’s hanging off of Jay, her platinum blonde hair streaked with shades of pink and red and her big blue eyes twinkle when she peeks past Jay to look at Zayn like she wants something but doesn’t say it.  Liam feels his fingers tighten into a fist at that, not that he cares what or why Perrie would be interested in Zayn.  He’s not.  Not at all, except Liam kind of moves a little closer to Zayn when her gaze lingers for a beat too long.  Zayn’s oblivious to it all, rubbing at the scruff along his cheek, playing with his watch, and still refusing to look at Liam even though they’re breaths away from each other now.

Phoebe’s thick brown hair is pulled up into a retro beehive, Cher cackling next to her with a beer already in hand while Phoebe sings along to the Katy Perry filtering through the room – _I’m falling from cloud nine. Crashing from the high. I’m letting go tonight._ Harry sips at a Coke next to her, watching Louis go on about their last game to Greg and Harry looks as if he’s hanging off of Louis’ every word.  Liam shakes his head at that, winces a bit because, fuck, how could he blame Harry?  Isn’t he doing just that with Zayn?

Liam stumbles away from the couch, slings an arm around Niall while Louis starts to fill the chilled beer glasses, Eleanor dripping vodka across the table as she pours it into the shot glasses.  Liam feels something push on his chest when Zayn sidles up next to him, their hands brushing briefly and Liam jerks at the touch, a fire singing his skin.  Zayn doesn’t notice but Niall looks at him curiously and Liam wrestles with the way his cheeks turn hot and red.

Louis explains to everyone the concept of the bomb, which most of them already know, but Zayn’s a little lost and Phoebe’s eyes are wide and confused.  Eleanor goes first, carefully dropping her shot glass into the cup of energy drink before quickly lifting it, downing it all at once.  Perrie hoots, cracking open a beer while Cher claps mockingly, her nose upturned when Eleanor uses the back of her hand to wipe her mouth.

Soon, they’re all tossing back their bombs.  Niall’s thumping his chest with his fist, howling.  Cher’s spills down her mouth and Liam pretends not to hear Perrie say, “ _Swallow_ , Cher, love.  They don’t like it when it dribbles down your face.”

Louis’ careless when he drops his shot in, the liquid splashing everywhere but he swallows it back just as quick, Greg and Jay cheering him on while Harry stares at him wide-eyed.  Liam does his with Phoebe and he nearly chokes at the way Zayn’s staring at him, watching the way his Adam’s apple bobs, eyes going a little dark when Liam’s tongue licks out to catch the last drop from the shot glass.  And, yeah, Liam didn’t mean to do that but he feels something stir when Zayn licks at his lips, Liam dragging the back of his hand across his mouth before burping.

“Fucking bullshit, Liam Payne,” Louis snickers out, already refilling most of the glasses while Eleanor clumsily fills the shot glasses with a cherry-flavored vodka this time.  “You’re no amateur.”

Liam snorts, his pride swelling.  He turns to Zayn who looks at his glass wearily.

“Come on Malik.  No time for pussies around here,” Greg says haughtily, burping loudly and Cher’s making a face while Phoebe cheers Zayn on.

Zayn narrows his eyes at Greg, determination settling into his face before he’s lifting the glass, lips kissing the rim of it.  Liam catches the way Zayn’s face tightens, his nose wrinkling when the first taste runs across his tongue and his cheeks turn a satiny shade of red.  He reaches out with his free hand and Liam doesn’t know what he’s searching for but he instinctively offers his own hand, letting Zayn’s fingers squeeze against Liam’s as he loosens his jaw and tries to swallow all of it.

Liam doesn’t know when their hands shift and Zayn’s fingers slide between Liam’s but Zayn’s holding his hand when he lowers the glass, small pants passing his lips as Harry and Niall pound on the table in celebration.  Perrie winks at Zayn but Zayn’s cheeks are too flushed for Liam to tell if he’s blushing.  He doesn’t let go of Liam’s hand for another beat, his thumb stroking over Liam’s knuckles and Liam wants the heat surging through him to be from the alcohol but he knows it’s not.  Not after one drink.

They do the next round in unison, Harry throwing an arm around Louis’ shoulders afterwards while Eleanor giggles uncontrollably into Niall’s chest.  Phoebe and Cher are snorting, trying to sing along to some Paramore song but they’re terribly off key.  Liam’s watching Zayn rock back and forth on his heels, those defined cheeks a pleasant pink now but his eyes are a little glassy.  He slides a little closer to Zayn while Niall fills the glasses this time, Harry and Louis too busy laughing into each other’s necks, while Eleanor tries to measure out more vodka, topping it off with some blue colored liquid.

The next round tastes a little sweeter, like Skittles in a glass, and Cher’s spills down her shirt, Eleanor laughing against Louis this time who’s holding her while playfully stringing his fingers through Harry’s hair.  Niall’s cheeks are full on red, his eyes lidded as he sips at a beer Phoebe passes him.  Perrie’s dancing around in circles to Lily Allen while Greg and Tom argue over who’s the better Premier team – Manchester City or Chelsea – and Liam wants to tell them they both have strong kits but he’s still a West Bromwich fan, despite their current record.  He settles on inching a little closer to Zayn because his eyes look even hazier with a sliding smile on his lips.  He rubs small circles on the small of Zayn’s back and his own skin is too hot with the way Zayn leans on him, his forehead pressed to the side of Liam’s neck.

Louis fills the shot glasses with one hundred proof schnapps on the next go around.  Liam licks at his glass this time because it tastes like peppermint even though it burns fiercely on the way down.  Niall’s sliding down the wall and his eyes are a shade paler but he’s grinning lopsidedly.  Phoebe’s a giggling mess on the floor and Cher’s passed out on the couch.  Perrie’s, well, she’s on the terrace and Liam doesn’t think that’s a good idea even though she’s singing ‘the Colors of the Wind’ to all of the animals like she’s a fucking Disney princess.  Greg keeps walking into walls while Eleanor snorts from her position on Louis’ lap, arms strewn around his neck but he keeps glancing around for Harry who’s sliding over the hardwood floors like a kid, laughing uncontrollably and singing loudly to the sound of Kurt Cobain – _Hey, wait. I’ve got a new complaint. Forever in debt to your priceless advice_.

Zayn looks pale, his tongue running over his lips incessantly even though their slick and shiny.  He’s got an arm tossed around Liam’s broad shoulders and Liam knows he’s the only thing holding Zayn up because Zayn keeps clutching at Liam’s shirt, laughing into his neck and hiccupping.  Liam’s confident he can hold his liquor, a theory proven one unfortunate night when Niall suggested they go through a bottle of Louis’ parents’ whiskey and Liam still can’t get the image of Niall stripping naked and running across the lawn while Louis tried desperately to recite his ABC’s backwards upside down on the roof of his car.

“ _Leeyum_ ,” Zayn drags out, still giggling into Liam’s neck and the skin there is moist with Zayn’s breath, Liam tightening his fingers on Zayn’s hip as he tries not to let the tingle running down his arms overcome him.

“I’ve got you, Zayn,” Liam whispers, pulling Zayn closer until Zayn is flushed against Liam, pinching at Liam’s shoulder as he tries to hold himself up.

“’m drunk,” Zayn slurs out, a small chuckle following the words.

Liam nods, running cautious fingers down the side of Zayn’s face until the scruff on his jaw bristles against Liam’s fingertips.

Zayn’s hot, feverish, and Liam swallows, tries to will away the need to touch any piece of skin available because it’s wrong.  The alcohol – that’s what it is.  It’s what’s tempting Liam, his thumb slipping under the hem of Zayn’s shirt to rub against the skin there, press against it until Zayn’s giggling again.

“I don’t want to get sick,” Zayn tells Liam lowly like it’s a secret but no one’s watching them now.  They’re all hazed over, on some sort of high from the last bomb and Liam’s shocked that even Louis’ too fucked to know what’s going on.

“Bed?” Liam suggests, his hand skating up to rub along Zayn’s back.

“I’m not that easy, Liam,” Zayn snorts, fingers tightening around the collar of Liam’s shirt, dragging it downward and, oh, that’s not a good idea.  No, Zayn whispers words against his collarbone, lips brushing over the skin there and Liam’s fucking hot.  He’s blistering and his cock is twitching and, fuck, get away Zayn.  Stop Zayn.

“I mean,” Liam swallows, his breathing accelerated, and his fingertips are tracing words like _‘fuck’ ‘Zayn’ ‘suck’ ‘hate’_ along the small of Zayn’s back, dipping into the space there to apply pressure that jerks Zayn closer.  “I mean, I need to get you upstairs.  To your own bed.  You need to sleep this off.  Get it out of your system.  Fuck, Zayn, you need to lay down.”

“Will you stay with me?” Zayn asks and his voice has lost that dripping playfulness in favor of something serious, concerning.  “I don’t think I can be alone.  I’m too fucked.  Shit, Liam, I don’t want to – “

Liam hushes him, nods against the top of Zayn’s head and he’s holding Zayn now, arms swept around Zayn’s smaller body until Zayn’s breathing into his chest now.  He can feel Zayn shaking, knows the feeling after one too many shots at Eleanor’s eighteenth birthday and he hasn’t stopped apologizing to El’s mum for vomiting all over their new Persian rug.

He doesn’t know what he’s doing and he swears that he’ll never do Rumple Minze again.  He’ll never drink anything German again because, fuck, it ruins you.  It tastes so good and it will fucking _ruin_ you.  And he thinks about all of this after he scoops Zayn up into his arms, Zayn giggling against the skin of his neck with his arms around Liam while Liam carries Zayn like he’s a fucking bride.  He’s carrying Zayn in his arms, shaky steps as he moves up the stairs and everything is blurring just at the edges but he refuses to stop.  He’s high on whatever they’ve been drinking and his muscles are straining to hold Zayn up because he’s small but there’s muscle there, a tipping weight that pushes against all of Liam’s strength.

He makes it to their room, begging Zayn to flick on the light because it’s way too dark and Liam doesn’t know the cabin well enough to maneuver in the dark.  It takes Zayn _five_ tries, Liam’s knees bending from the pressure while Zayn snickers the entire time.  Liam gathers enough strength to make it those few steps before dropping Zayn onto the bed, onto _Liam’s_ bed instead of Zayn’s but he’s too weak to drag Zayn to his own and, honestly, he doesn’t think Zayn cares where he is as long as he’s not standing.

“Dizzy, Li,” Zayn slurs out, those long lashes sweeping over beautiful cheeks and Liam’s feeling breathless looking down at Zayn.  His fingers are shaking as he reaches down, pushes the fringe from Zayn’s forehead before leaning down to scrape his fingers over Zayn’s chin, rubbing gently over Zayn’s nose.

Liam inches down to his knees on the floor, a move that’s shaky and off balance, before resting his elbows on the edge of the bed.  Zayn’s close, reaching out to run his hand over Liam’s forearm, over those thick black arrows, the back of Liam’s hand that isn’t touching Zayn.

“You okay?” Liam asks, his voice a bit choked and he fucking hates how he’s just a child in front of Zayn.

Zayn smiles weakly, tries to nod but it comes across as a jerky movement.  He pushes up on his hands, crawling closer to Liam, tipping over some but he catches himself with a snort, eyes lidded.

“You’re going to stay?”

Liam bites on his lip, cheeks burn a deep pink with Zayn’s eyes pleading with him.  He swallows thickly, nodding slowly because anything too brisk makes the room spin.

“Only because I don’t want you tossing your cookies all over my bed,” Liam admits, using his fingers to lift Zayn’s chin.  His eyes are a shade of chocolate this time, long lashes fluttering.

“Tossing your cookies,” Zayn repeats with a giggle.  “You’re so American.”

Liam doesn’t know what that means, doesn’t ask Zayn anything else because he knows anything requiring thought will distract Zayn from remembering to breathe, to settle his nerves before he really does get sick.  He lets his fingers curl behind Zayn’s neck, rubbing patiently there until Zayn moans softly, pushing closer.

“Zayn,” Liam whispers, his breath catching when Zayn moves further in.  No, he can’t find the words.  He can’t stop Zayn.

“Liam,” Zayn whispers back, his tongue stroking his lips.  “C’mere.”

“Zayn, you’re drunk.”

“Liam, you’re… _Liam_.”

Liam wants to ask again what that’s supposed to mean but he doesn’t.  And he doesn’t back away though his mind keeps screaming at him.  His fingers dig into the nape of Zayn’s neck and, yeah, he’s dragging Zayn closer.  He’s allowing this.  He’s giving Zayn permission when he knows Zayn’s too drunk to know better.  And he’s choking on an inhale when Zayn slides his lips against Liam’s, eyes fluttering shut while Liam leaves his own open.

He’s dizzy with Zayn’s lips against his and Zayn’s moving them lazily, probably because he’s too drunk to do anything.  Liam’s hand lifts, presses against Zayn’s face and he thinks he can muscle Zayn off of him but instead he’s cradling Zayn’s face, holding him perfectly still so Liam can kiss him back.  And he does, soft pressure until Zayn’s lips part for a moan and Liam grins, lips shifting over Zayn’s until it feels incredibly real.

It’s a poor first kiss and, wait, why did Liam care if it was good or not?  He doesn’t want to kiss Zayn.  He doesn’t want to be near Zayn because Zayn’s a prick.  He’s an asshole.  He’s… _amazing_ with his mouth.  His tongue licks at Liam’s lips and, fuck, Liam’s sliding them apart, letting Zayn’s tongue slip in.  He tastes sweet from the alcohol, dry from the cigarettes he smoked earlier, golden from those sugary peach candies Liam saw Zayn popping into his mouth when Eleanor first arrived.

His fingers shift up into Zayn’s hair and he wonders if Zayn hates when people touch his hair.  He wonders if Zayn doesn’t mind Liam doing it because he likes Liam.  He likes Liam being this close.  He probably doesn’t, probably thinks Liam’s Perrie or some other nameless bloke he can snog for a little while and forget.  Zayn seems like that type.

Zayn presses against Liam’s lips a little harder and the world feels off center, out of focus and his mind is spinning.  His tongue is running over Zayn’s and Zayn’s breathing out these small whimpers like he’s fighting it, like he knows this isn’t supposed to happen too.  It creaks along Liam’s mind and he’s sick, willing himself not to hold on for too long because, as good as this feels, it’s going to pound against his head in the morning.

Liam pulls back slowly, pants breaking through his lips as he holds Zayn in place, prevents him from scrambling forward.  Zayn’s lips are swollen, his pupils blown, and Liam wonders if it’s the alcohol or the kiss that has Zayn’s cheeks flushed and insanely pink.  He doesn’t care.  He settles on moving back a little further to keep the distance breathable, to collect the thoughts that are pinging against his brain like a fucking pinball.

He’s too drunk to think, to figure out why he liked kissing Zayn that much.  And Zayn, fuck, he looks wrecked and shitfaced but he’s smiling a little while trying to admire Liam through lidded eyes.

“I shouldn’t have.  Fuck, Zayn,” Liam hisses, his fingers tightening into the duvet on his bed.

“I’m sorry.”

The words sound broken, Liam lifting his eyes to see the wounded expression ruling Zayn’s face.  He swallows, traces his thumb over Zayn’s bottom lip and Zayn looks defeated, eyes heavy from the alcohol.

“’s my fault.  Liam, _fuck_ , I didn’t mean for it to happen.”

It stings.  Liam doesn’t know why but the words fucking rake over his skin like barbed wire.  He replays them until he’s nauseous and, shit, he doesn’t know why.  They should’ve been the best seven words he’s ever heard because, yeah, it _shouldn’t_ have happen.  But, well, it _did_.  And Liam liked it.  Zayn obviously did not.

“You’re right,” Liam confirms, pushing himself up to his feet again and his legs are sore from kneeling, his foot cramping and he’s far too pissed to run from the room.  He sighs lowly, whispering, “Glad we both agree.”

Zayn reaches up, falling on the bed as he tries to but his fingers circle around Liam’s wrist, dig in roughly.

“You said you’d stay.”

_That was before you kissed me and hated it you dick_ , Liam thinks but he bites on the tip of his tongue.  Zayn looks desperate, fearful that if Liam leaves he’ll be alone.  He’ll be without someone to cling to if he gets sick.  And Liam feels used for just a moment until Zayn blinks up at him, chewing on his bottom lip like it’s more than just that.  Like he needs Liam and only Liam around because they were friends a long time ago.  They clung to each other like that as kids, didn’t they?  Liam thinks so.

“You’re pissed off your ass.”

“You’re a sporty.”

“What?”

“Leeyum, I’m sleepy,” Zayn slurs out, still feebly trying to pull Liam closer.

Liam tries to school that annoyed look on his face, Zayn’s small nails biting into the skin on the inside of his wrist.  He runs his tongue over his lips, immediately regretting that move, and he can still taste Zayn there.  He can still feel his heart thumping against his chest and his head feels clouded.

He knows he could back out, leave Zayn there and Zayn would eventually pass out without Liam.  It’s a thought that passing through his mind more times than he can count.  But he knows better.  It’s not him, as much as he wants it to be right now.  Louis could do it, probably Niall, but Liam has never been able to be _that_ guy.  He wonders if Zayn would do the same for him.

Liam reaches for the button of his jeans, his mind idling before he decides against that and grabs the hem of his shirt instead, pulling it over his head and dropping it on the floor.  He’ll fold it and stuff it into his bag in the morning but it’s hot and stuffy in the room and he’s doing his best to ignore the slow burning looks Zayn’s giving him.

“Shove over,” Liam tells him, his voice a bit thick with disdain and he doesn’t mean to have that tone.

Zayn nods slowly, does his best to scoot backwards but he’s completely uncoordinated now and he looks sort of helpless.

Liam sighs out his frustration, kneeling on the bed and the mattress squeaks with his added weight.  He leans in to gentle Zayn back, considers shoving him but he knows that won’t help anything, and carefully scoops his hand under Zayn’s head to lift it.  He rests Zayn’s head on one of the pillows before sliding down onto the bed, grabbing a pillow for himself.

Zayn’s giving him tentative looks like he’s scared to touch Liam, scared to ask for anything more and Liam’s emotions betray him for a moment.  He’s blaming the alcohol again as he scoots closer, lets his legs tangle with Zayn’s.  He’s wishing he would’ve shut the light off, kicked the door closed but none of that will matter if Louis decides to burst into the room anyway.  And the light is haloing over Zayn’s features, softening them, curving over Zayn’s jaw and the way Zayn’s lashes look beautifully long when Zayn’s eyes flutter close makes Liam feel insanely warm.

“Do you need me to,” Liam chokes on his last few words when Zayn manages to drag himself closer to Liam, his palm flat on Liam’s chest before he’s pushing Liam onto his back, Liam falling willingly to allow Zayn to drape an arm over Liam’s bare stomach, his leg cocking up to rest over Liam’s thighs.

Liam sighs softly, sliding an arm beneath Zayn’s boneless body to cradle Zayn.  His fingers lose themselves in Zayn’s thick hair and its quiet, their slow breathing dancing together in the small confines of the room.  Zayn hiccups out a sigh and Liam can feel a smile spreading over Zayn’s lips as he tries to cuddle closer.  His skin is hot, nearly melting away but, for some unexplainable reason, he has no desire to pull away from Zayn.  Something right along the side of his brain wants to find a way to fit their bodies closer though that feels a bit insane with the way they’re angled and slotted against each other on the bed.

“Thank you,” Zayn whispers, the words broken and nearly giggled out.

Liam doesn’t need to reply.  He tucks his hand underneath his own hand, listening to Zayn’s breathing as it evens out and his own eyes are too heavy to do anything else.  His mouth twitches at the corners and he wants to, fuck, he wants it to stop because his lips are shifting, spreading and he feels so fucking silly smiling right now.  Not with a drunken Zayn cuddling to him, fingers running over the sparse hairs on his bare chest, reminding Liam that he can’t hate Zayn as much as he wants to.

He sighs, turning his head slightly and that smile is pressed to Zayn’s forehead, his nose buried in Zayn’s hair, and he wants nothing but for all of this to matter tomorrow when they’re both sober and nothing resembling friends again.

**

There are two things that have always been able to clear Liam’s mind: his morning runs around the neighborhood, where he cranks his iPod up and drowns out every thought he’s ever had for that crisp thirty minutes, and football.

He’s never been as naturally gifted at it as Louis has but he’s worked hard to learn as many skills as possible, played almost every position, and has actually become quite the player.  There’s something about being on the pitch or playing a pickup game in the road, maybe someone’s backyard, that sends his senses into a blissed out high that takes him hours to come down from.  He thinks maybe it’s the rules or the excitement, maybe it’s just the adrenaline he can’t quite seem to escape that wipes away his fears, his anxiety, his constant need to be something great just to impress his friends, his classmates, his father.

Liam wonders if, just maybe, his father wishes he had a son like Louis.  Not the Louis who shouts out obscenities, has a running record of detentions, a list of men and women he’s slept with without the least bit of concern for any of their feelings, or the Louis who seems to think that alcohol is one of the four major food groups.  No, the Louis who excelled in school, who could turn on his charm without thinking about it, the one who’s a complete natural at football and has made quite the name for himself in their district, all without putting forth much effort.  The one who brought home all the prettiest of girls – “You know, if you could chat up a nice girl like that Eleanor, maybe you wouldn’t be sitting at home with your mum and me on Friday nights doing homework and watching _Downtown Abbey_.” – and who seemed to be the first one invited to all of the best parties.

Maybe his father wanted someone who wasn’t… well, _Liam_.

He drowns those thoughts out, the ones about being normal, never quite the most brilliant student, the one who can’t seem to hold a relationship together even though he knows he’s kind, endearing, thoughtful, loving in the most honest meaning of the word.  He blurs the thoughts about being unable to figure out a clear path for his life, next year even when he’s expected to go to University and become something great.  But Liam’s never been great.

And he lets those lingering musings about kissing Zayn Malik, the softness of his lips, the way he tasted sweet and salty and fiery turn black and white.  The way Zayn wasn’t cuddling to him this morning when he woke, instead curled into a corner of the couch with those long lashes feathered against his cheeks, fingers pinching a pillow, his hair down and incredibly soft, sweeping just over his forehead.  He lit the images of Zayn kissing at his neck during the night, fingers curling around Liam’s bicep when he shook during his sleep, Zayn whispering his name when it all felt like a haze of running thoughts until it was all just a sizzling fire in his mind.

The thick grass is worn, losing most of its color but Liam doesn’t mind.  It’s almost smooth, the surface fit enough for him to dribble the football along.  The leaves dance around him, crunching under his feet as he sprints up and down the small stretch of land near the cabin.  He smiles when a sharp gust of wind catches the ball, chasing it just far enough that he slides along the slick portions of the ground still drizzled wet with the morning dew.  The sun is lifting, stretching along the clouds and dipping the sky in a soft blue.  It strikes the back of his neck, warming his back, and he’s tugging at the collar of his jumper while trying to break his old record of keepie uppies, eyes on the ball with the strictest concentration.

He feels warm, relaxed, at ease as the ball bounces over his feet, across his knees, against his chest, springing off of the toe of his trainers to bounce the ball off of his head.  There’s a thin layer of sweat sticking to his skin, his muscles tingling.  And, for the briefest of moments, his mind is _clear_.

“You’re pretty good, lad.”

That moment is gone just that briskly.

Liam loses control of the ball, his knee catching it and it lifts high into the sky, the sun blinding him as he goes to grip it.  It smacks against a wet patch of the ground.  Liam takes a moment to catch his breath, dragging the back of his hand over his forehead to swipe away the sweat before he lets his eyes focus in on Zayn.  The sun is catching his features in a soft cocoon of angelic glow.  It seems a bit, well, trivial, the way he looks at Zayn, but he can’t help himself for a few seconds.

Zayn drags a smile over his lips before they’re slipping sideways across his face.  His scruff has been shaved away but there’s still a darkness cascading over his cheeks, his chin and upper lip.  His fingers are rubbing at his lips, pulling across them until Liam wishes it was his own fingers tracing that slightly chapped bottom lip.  His hair is hidden beneath that beanie again but those fading blonde strips are peeking from beneath, his hair too thick and fighting against the beanie.

Liam rubs at the back of his neck, his teeth instinctively latching onto his bottom lip.  He leans a little until the sun stops swiping over Zayn’s lean body, fighting with a smile when Zayn’s lips curve higher.  He’s toying with the zipper on his leather jacket, trainers sinking into the moist ground until his feet shyly kick at the ball, try to find a steady rhythm but Zayn’s far from graceful.  He reminds Liam of the way he was when he was younger, trying to coordinate his thoughts with his feet to be just as good as Louis was.

Liam snorts, rubbing his hands together as Zayn slowly manages to dribble the ball closer to him.  He has to chase it a little, catching it with the toe of his trainers but he manages to get close enough that his next kick sends the ball sailing toward Liam.

“I’ve seen you play,” Zayn says lowly, a tinge of pride sliding into his smile when Liam catches the ball easily with his foot, kips it up so he can bounce it from knee to knee.

“You have?” Liam asks, trying to rule that shock in his voice but his voice cracks.  He feels that quiet burn against his cheeks and focuses his eyes on the ball rather than the way Zayn’s looking at him like… like he’s magic.

“Been to a few games with Ant and Danny,” Zayn says offhandedly, leaves cracking under his trainers as he edges forward.  “Mostly just hid behind the bleachers having a smoke but I saw you a few times.  You’re brilliant, Liam.”

“ _Louis’_ brilliant,” Liam argues but his grin is telling.  He lets the ball drop away, roll closer to Zayn.  “He’s the captain.  I’m just a midfielder.”

“Do you ever get tired of being that?” Zayn wonders, his foot tapping at the ball until it rolls back to Liam.

Liam blinks at him, genuinely confused for a beat too long.  “Being what?”

Zayn sighs quietly, shaking his head.  “Nevermind.”

Liam shrugs, scooping the ball up with the toe of his Converse.  It’s shiny with dew, spots of mud streaked over it but Liam kicks it back up, letting the mud smudge along his joggers before he pops it up, bounces it off the top of his head.

Zayn reaches high, catches it in his hands and he’s smirking, a surprised expression reigning over his face.  He chuckles lowly, tossing the ball from hand to hand before letting his eyes drop on Liam again.  They’re haloed gold this time, those long lashes sweeping over his cheeks when he blinks at Liam.

Liam inches forward, his heart cracking against his chest in the most pleasant way.  He reaches out, fingers swiping over Zayn’s as he takes the ball from him.  Zayn puts up a small fight, nipping at his bottom lip before relinquishing it to Liam.

“Do you want me to show you?” Liam asks lowly, ducking his head some when Zayn’s grin spreads.

“You want to teach me?” Zayn questions, eyes narrowing a little.

Liam nods quickly, sucking at his bottom lip.  “Is that okay?”

Zayn snorts, giving Liam a small nod.  “It’s okay.  If you want to, I mean.”

_I do_ , Liam thinks but he doesn’t say it.  There’s a lump stuck in his throat and he’s pulling the ball close to his chest, backing away from Zayn.  He wants to stay close, drop the ball away and drag Zayn to him, slot their lips together until he remembers the texture of Zayn’s mouth.  He turns from Zayn, a shiver running briskly down his spine and his fingers are pushing against the pressure of the ball to center his thoughts.

Liam runs through the basics with Zayn, kicking the ball back and forth while giving Zayn a few tips – “No hands, Zayn.  Everyone knows that.” “Try to use the inside of your foot.” “What are you doing?  The goal is the _other_ way.”  He uses two large trees on either side of the field as goals, chasing Zayn back and forth while laughing at the way Zayn’s completely uncoordinated but determined.  Zayn bites at his bottom lip, slides along the grass but he finds a way to control the ball.

Liam shows Zayn a few tricks, grinning when Zayn catches onto a few easily while releasing a stream of obscenities when he can’t figure out how to do the others.  They practice passing the ball to each other, Liam running backwards to keep up with the sheer force of Zayn’s kicks.  Zayn lets out a howl when he manages to make a goal without trying, leaping into the air and Liam runs up to him, fastening his arms around Zayn’s waist to swing him around in circles.  They’re dizzy with laughter, Zayn hugging onto Liam and pressing a sloppy kiss to Liam’s forehead before they pull apart, grinning like children.

“You’d probably make a great striker like Lou.  Maybe a winger,” Liam says while softly kicking the ball toward Zayn, smirking when Zayn manages to kip the ball up with his toe, losing control of it just as quickly.

“And Niall?” Zayn wonders, chasing the ball down the grass.

“Goalkeeper,” Liam explains, arms folding over his chest while watching Zayn shrug off his jacket, dropping it onto a tree stump.  “He’s the best I’ve seen.”

“You’re the best I’ve seen,” Zayn admits, dribbling the ball closer.

Liam traces his eyes over the twisting tattoos along Zayn’s forearm.  He remembers when there were so few – the crossed fingers, the ‘ZAP!’ etched in red and yellow, the microphone coiling up his arm.  He remembers sitting behind Zayn in Literature, tapping the top of his pen along his notebook as Zayn read softly along with Mrs. Klein, the way his head was bowed and his voice soft.  He read like he understood every word, every meaning behind every syllable while Anthony snored in the seat next to him, Cher popping her gum to the left of Liam.  His quiet syncopated voice lulled Liam even though Liam was certain he was trying to hate the way Zayn understood everything before the rest of the class.

“I’ve always wanted to try something else,” Liam admits quietly like he’s ashamed to say it aloud.  He catches the ball Zayn sends toward him with a lopsided kick.  He watches the way the black and white pattern spins into one color as he easily dribbles it around Zayn.

“I wanted to be an attacker.  A goalie.  I don’t know, maybe even a full-back,” Liam says, honey-brown eyes still on the ball but he could do all of this with his eyes closed.

It’s an instinct, the way his feet guide the ball.  He knows it’s something he had to train himself how to do to impress his coach, his father, anyone watching their games.  But he does it, without thinking, breathing in and out each movement.

“I thought I could be a coach one day,” Liam says fondly, crescent smile over his lips now.  “For little kids, though.  I wanted to teach them.  Show them everything.  Make them feel proud no matter where they were on the pitch.”

“Teach them like you’re teaching me?” Zayn says, amusement waning through his tone.

Liam lifts his head, bites at his lip when he catches Zayn’s smile before nodding slowly.

“Do you think I’d be a proper coach?” Liam asks, winces at the way his voice sounds shy and childlike.

“A right proper one,” Zayn says with a laugh, his foot sweeping out and stealing the ball from Liam.

Liam feels a building pride at the way Zayn maneuvers the ball a little easier now, struggling a little to run and control the ball at the same time but when he takes cautious steps, he moves like he’s fluent in football.  His shoulders dip forward, his head stays bowed, and he catches the ball with the inside of his foot.

“You could be captain of the team.  Or a striker.  Or whatever the fuck they call all of those other positions,” Zayn says, unable to maintain the ball while talking but he tries so earnestly that Liam doesn’t dare interrupt to tell him his form is looking poor, sloppy.

Zayn stops the ball with the heel of his trainer, panting loudly but there’s a sliding grin on his lips.

Liam returns the grin, shifting his feet along the grass until he’s next to Zayn, his fingers accidentally rubbing at Zayn’s side.  Zayn doesn’t move away, thankfully, and Liam can’t help the way his fingers dance over Zayn’s hip, across Zayn’s palm until he considers sliding them between the open spaces and holding Zayn’s hand.

“About last night,” Liam starts, his middle and forefinger tickling over the soft skin of Zayn’s palm.

“I’m okay with it,” Zayn tells him, his voice even but his eyes are on Liam’s hands rather than his eyes.  “I have been for a while.  The fact that we don’t get along.  We’re not kids anymore.  But, I mean, I just don’t get _why_.”

Liam stares at him for a minute, eyes blinking, his lips parting.  He’s taken aback, confused, and Zayn’s shrugging like everything he’s just said is obvious.  Not that it isn’t – Liam knows they both dance around talking about it – but he’s never heard Zayn say it.

“I don’t either,” Liam admits, something sounding like regret sticking to his voice.

“I’m not an asshole.”

“I’m not a sport.  Or a jock,” Liam counters, his thumb running over the veins on Zayn’s wrist.  “Or popular.”

“You are,” Zayn argues with a stiff laugh.  “You just don’t admit it to yourself.  But they’re your friends for a reason.”

Because of Louis.  Zayn won’t say it, but Liam knows it.  He knows where he stands in it all and he wonders if maybe he should hate himself instead of Zayn for letting that be the reason he’s not friends with Zayn.  Or, honestly, why he’s not friends with Zayn _anymore_.

“You are kind of a prick,” Liam teases him, dragging the dull nail of his thumb along the curve of Zayn’s palm.

“Yeah, well, you are too,” Zayn jokes back, nudging Liam’s leg with his knee.  “And an idiot.”

“Jerk,” Liam says and Zayn’s nose is scrunching with a laugh.  It’s genuine, something Liam hasn’t heard in too long.  He hates that he misses the way Zayn’s eyes crinkle at the edges, his cheeks tightening, his mouth wide when he laughs like this.  It’s infectious and Liam’s laughing with him, a hand resting on Zayn’s shoulder.

“Oi, Payne!  If you’re done fooling around with Malik, maybe we can get a quick pickup game going?”

Liam shakes at the sound of Greg’s voice, his head snapping to look over his shoulder.  Greg is standing with his arms folded in his letterman jacket, Nathan and Max laughing behind him with Andy and Kyle off to the side, Eleanor huddled with Phoebe and Jade this time, and Louis dragging lazily fingers through his hair next to them.  Niall’s sitting on the grass, lofty grin still on his lips but he has a pair of thick sunglasses covering his eyes.  Liam knows he’s completely fucked from the night before but Niall won’t tell anyone.

“Yeah, move to the sidelines Malik,” Jay calls out, coming from behind a tree and he’s stomping toward them, kicking the ball from beneath Zayn’s foot, leaving Zayn off balance.

Liam eases a hand against the small of Zayn’s back, steadies him without putting forth much effort.

“What’re you doing out this way anyways Malik?” Max asks with a sneer, nudging his shoulder softly against Nathan’s.  “Shouldn’t you be off writing in your diary?”

Jade cackles loudly, Phoebe shaking her head while Eleanor leans on Louis, her lips silent but there’s something disapproving in her eyes.  Louis watches with small eyes, biting at his lip and Liam wonders if he’d speak up for Liam’s sake or just to shut them all up.

He doesn’t and Liam tries not to look disappointed.

“Come on lads, let’s just pick teams and pray Malik disappears,” Greg crows when Jay passes him the ball, leering at Liam for a moment before turning away.

Liam does a half-turn toward Zayn and immediately regrets it.

Zayn’s breathing heavily through his nose, lips pressed tightly into a thin white line.  He’s almost shaking, fingers clenched into tight fists at his side with his shoulders drawn back.  His chest is rising and falling rapidly and his cheeks are flushed a deep red.  There’s creases in his brow and Liam waits for Zayn to blink, but he doesn’t.  His eyes are a little narrowed but there’s a wet sheen to them, a quick, forceful blink and his eyelashes are stuck on the thick tears he’s holding in.  Liam can feel the anger vibrating off of his skin and, whatever he wants to say feels irrelevant right now because Zayn’s far too angry for a single word Liam has to offer.

“Zayn,” Liam chokes out lowly, fingers brushing against Zayn’s bare forearm and he wishes he would’ve just stayed quiet.

Zayn jerks away, setting narrowed eyes on Liam.  Liam feels impossibly small underneath Zayn’s glare.  He can see Zayn biting impatiently at his bottom lip and Liam feels a tremble start from his chest and move outward when Zayn shakes his head.  He’s waiting for Zayn to spit out those vicious words, the ones that’ll make Liam feel even more like shit than he does right now.  They don’t come.

Zayn shoulders past Liam, stomps toward his jacket before jerking it up.  Liam can feel Zayn’s feet rustling past the leaves, kicking at them but he’s still not saying a word.  Not to Greg as he passes him, not to Louis as he curves around him toward the cabin.  He doesn’t utter a word to Harry who’s watching from the steps with his curls tied back by a headband and wide green eyes.  He disappears into the cabin and Liam feels a quaking ghost shift over his skin.  He’s cold, freezing even though the sun is high and the wind isn’t shifting at all.

If Zayn didn’t hate him completely before, he probably does now.

“Come on Payne,” Greg barks out, volleying the ball to Max, who head-butts it toward Jay.  “The lads and I are ready to get going.”

“Hey, the girls want to play too,” Phoebe says in a challenging voice, folds her arms over her chest when Greg glares at her incredulously.

Greg barks out a laugh, head tipping back.  Eleanor twists her lips sideways, brow dropping while Jade shrugs.

“Sure thing Pheebs.  We’ll go get Malik to join in so all the girls can play, yeah?” Greg offers, Kyle and Jay chuckling lowly behind him.

Andy gives Liam a careful look while Niall picks at a few leaves on the ground.  Louis’ still picking silently at his hair and Liam wants to call all of them cowards.  He doesn’t.  He’d have to call himself one for not saying anything before Zayn walked away and that’s the part that guts him the most.

He _is_ one of them and that’s why they’re his friend.

Liam strides over to Greg when Jay kicks the ball back to Greg.  Greg scoops it up, grinning with his cheeks high when Liam approaches.  Liam knocks his fist into Greg’s shoulder, reckons he was aiming for Greg’s face but feels satiated when Greg drops the ball to rub at his shoulder, releasing a small yelp that echoes through the air.  Phoebe grins proudly, Eleanor giggling softly while Louis blinks curiously at Liam.

“I’m on whatever team you’re _not_ ,” Liam says with a hiss, shoving Greg with one arm until Greg stumbles back into Max, both nearly falling backwards as Liam shoulders past Nathan and Jay to swipe up the ball.

He does a few kick-ups while Louis divvies up the teams, eyes glancing to the left toward the cabin.  He wonders if Zayn’s watching him from the window with a grin.  Or maybe he’s writing a poem about how awful Liam really is.  He’d settle for either as long as it stripped this sinking feeling inside of him.

**

A hot tub in November wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

At least, not at first it wasn’t.  Liam had slipped in early into the evening, after Harry had made them all fajitas and some rice dish his mum had taught him that was quite delicious.  Liam had showered away the grime and sweat from the three pickup games they played, each one a little more physical than the last and, fuck, Liam was sore from the dozens of times he slammed into Greg to get the ball back, slipping to the ground while struggling to block Nathan who was smaller but swifter than Liam.  His team won two of the games, mainly because Louis was quite the player, Andy too when he put forth the effort but Liam managed to kick one of the winning goals.  Phoebe cheered wildly for him from the side, Louis tackling him into a particularly slick part of the ground, slathering both of their backs in mud with wild laughter and tickling fingers sending them into a small pile that included Kyle and Andy.

“You look gross,” Zayn had said when Liam limped into their room, curled into his own bed with a book in his lap and black-rimmed glasses on his face.  Liam was thankful he’d even spoken at all even though those three words were the only ones Zayn spoke for most of the evening.

The jets and steaming water couldn’t massage away the way Liam still felt awful about what happened earlier.  He couldn’t lie, it felt incredible against his back, along his thighs but he’d settle for a smile from Zayn, a couple of words, something even Harry hadn’t been able to coax out of Zayn at the table. And when Niall and Harry got into a rather intense game of Wii bowling – “You fucker!” “Hey, you do this professionally, don’t you?  I can see a lad like yourself travelling all of Asia playing fucking Wii tournaments in kimonos and shit.” – and Louis’ eyes sort of lingered on Liam every time he looked at Zayn, exhaling lowly because Liam felt pathetic.

“Oi!  Shove over Li.”

Liam bats his eyes open, his head tilted back against the edge of the hot tub and he tries not to sound impatient or annoyed with his sigh when he looks on Louis bopping from foot to foot outside, in the fucking cold, with nothing but a pair of swim trunks on.  He makes a face, amused by the way Louis’ practically shivering before Niall and Harry are filing outside with him, Eleanor and Cher following in bikinis and, suddenly, the hot tub is way too crowded with this many bodies inside.

“Oh gosh, can you get your leg off my thigh,” Eleanor says teasingly, flicking water at Niall while Cher blows a gust of air upward to push her bangs out of her eyes.

“That’s _my_ thigh, not El’s,” Harry barks out with a laugh, shoving at Louis’ shoulder and Liam eyes him because he knows that was probably Louis’ intention.

“Fuck, it’s hot,” Niall gasps, sinking further into the bubbling water before winking at Cher.  “So are you.”

Cher shoots him an unimpressed look, chewing her gum fiercely.  “Was that supposed to be a chat up line?”

Niall nods happily, an unsettling shade of red prickling over his cheeks.

“Major disappointment,” Cher says with a giggle, her hand swiping against the surface of the water to splash at Niall.

Liam snorts at the way Niall’s hair falls with his face.

“Ew, your lips taste awful while you’re drinking that,” Eleanor gushes, smacking Louis’ shoulder as he takes another healthy gulp of a Corona.

“Funny, I’ve heard I’m quite talented with my mouth,” Louis says mockingly toward her before turning to Harry who’s wide-eyed and gaping at Louis.  “You should hear the things they say Harry.  They’re quit true.”

Liam rolls his eyes, lips pushing sideways as Harry sinks a little further into the water, curls falling over his forehead and he’s swiping them back with a wet hand, drops of water dripping down the side of his face.  Liam swears Louis’ tongue licks out like he wants to wipe the droplets away with nothing but his mouth.

“I don’t know why anyone would waste their time on you,” Cher says teasingly, taking a swallow of a Corona before shoving it in Niall’s direction, grinning pleasantly at him as he smirks.

“Because I’m better than you in bed?” Louis offers, arching one of his eyebrows toward Cher.

Cher lets out a cackle, head tipping back with her nose scrunching.  “You wish!”

“Oh, I _know_ ,” Louis insists, leaning forward some.  He puts the neck of the bottle to his lips, sinking far down it and Liam blushes _for_ Harry, head shaking before he’s kicking Louis beneath the bubbles.  Louis jerks, nearly choking on the bottle but Louis’ right – he _is_ quite talented with his mouth.

“You know?” Harry asks, intrigue running through his voice as he pushes a few more curls back.

Liam swallows, blinking his eyes shut because he can’t look at Louis’ face.  He knows there’s a far too wide grin there and he imagines the wheels behind Louis’ eyes turning quite briskly.

“The things I can do,” Louis hums with a smirk, winking at Harry as Eleanor lays quiet kisses on his cheek, arms curling around Louis’ neck.  He slides an arm around her shoulders, pulling her a little closer but his dark eyes settle on Harry as he tips his head back for another drink.

“Giving out free demonstrations?” Cher wonders with a quirked grin.

“Cher,” Eleanor hisses, eyes wide and Cher’s shrugging like she doesn’t give a shit.  She doesn’t, really.

Liam leans back into the water, watches everything transpire.  He watches the way Niall tries, and fails, to win over Cher with his impersonations, his stupid jokes that only Liam laughs at but Liam’s an idiot like that sometimes.  Eleanor’s toying with Louis’ fringe, nuzzling her nose to his ear, slipping a hand dangerously low down the planes of Louis’ stomach and Liam doesn’t particularly care to know what’s happening under the waves of the water.  Louis keeps his eyes straight ahead, on Harry, chatting about football and music and anything that seems common with a glint in his eyes and Harry’s cheeks painfully pink.

Niall slips out after a while, squealing when the cold air strikes his wet body and he stumbles inside, returning minutes later with a bunch of Coronas tucked under his arms and a few limes in his hand.  Eleanor busies herself with cutting up the limes, Cher opening the bottles while bent over the edge of the tub, her ass on display and Liam laughs at the way Niall and Harry leer at her for moments before she plops back down like she’s done nothing offensive.

Eleanor slides closer to Liam, resting her head on his shoulder and they laugh about silly things like Liam coloring outside of the lines when they were younger, Eleanor walking around the halls in that new polka-dot dress her mum bought her with half of it stuffed into the back of her tights.  Louis’ managed to shift closer to Harry, pulling at his curls as Harry drawls out a story about forming his own band, entering some silly battle of the bands contest that they somehow win, probably because the other bands were complete shit – “Wait, you called yourself _White Eskimo_?” – but Cher’s listening intently, legs drawn up and resting on Niall’s lap as he attempts to drink two Coronas at once.

Liam peeks out through the glass door leading outside a few times.  He watches Zayn pass through the kitchen with a mug of coffee in his hand, a book in another.  He catches Zayn settling down onto the couch, slipping far enough into the cushions that he’s hidden away from Liam’s vision.  He bites at the disappointment, tries to follow some sort of mapped out plan in his mind to recover.  Because he sort of still hates Zayn.  He really does, but that’s because Zayn had become quite magnificent at making Liam feel like shit.

“We need tequila,” Louis announces, sucking at a lime while grinning at Harry.

Harry nods happily, those green eyes wide as Louis runs his tongue over the neck of his bottle, pushing it past those pink lips while hollowing his cheeks and that’s enough for Liam.

“I’ll get it,” Liam declares, standing up briskly, water splashing off of him onto Lois and a squeaking Eleanor.

“Shot glasses too my good man,” Louis says while looking up, smiling a little too affectionately.  Liam’s certain Louis’ already buzzed from the beer but he doesn’t feel like arguing.  He also doesn’t feel like comforting Eleanor on Tuesday when they get back to school and she’s a crying mess because Louis, once again, failed to make good on some promise of working on their relationship.  He’s a little more willing to deal with that then openly watching Louis flirt with Harry.  That’s just, well, fucked up.

And he’s decided Louis is a douche.  He’s not telling Zayn though.

Lam wraps his towel around himself, slipping into the cabin quickly.  He tiptoes through the kitchen, drops of water creating a trail wherever he moves as he searches the cupboards for the tequila.  He hums to himself, yanking open cabinet after cabinet because, fuck it all, leave it to Louis not to be organized enough to put all of the liquor in one spot.  He sighs pleasantly when he finds a bottle of silver tequila, decides it won’t matter to any of them if it’s gold or silver because, honestly, they’re all halfway to being drunk anyways.

There’s a throat clearing and Liam looks up in surprise, sees Zayn peeking over the back of the couch with brown eyes studying Liam.  They run over the water sluicing down Liam’s neck, running over the planes of his bare chest and Liam feels blush rush over him.  Zayn’s blinking at him, running a slow tongue over his lips as he draws invisible lines over Liam’s heaving chest, his contracting stomach muscles, that thick line of hair leading a path toward the towel wrapped tightly around Liam’s waist.  There’s a pale rose hue to Zayn’s cheeks, teeth gnawing at his lip before he finally looks away.

Liam quirks his brow, grips the neck of the bottle before throwing away whatever caution he once owned.  He takes light steps toward the couch, stopping just short when Zayn kicks a leg over the back of the couch, head resting on one of the pillows.  He’s lying on his back, the book – _The Tempest_ , which Liam still hasn’t quite finished even though it was an assignment given to them at the beginning of the academic year – raised high over his face with those black-rimmed glasses still nestled on his face.

“You want to join us?” Liam asks, pushing at his hair with his damp hand.

Zayn lowers his book, nipping at the corner of his mouth as he looks up at Liam.  “No.”

“But – “

“No thanks,” Zayn repeats, lifting his book again.

Liam sighs, shoulders slumping forward.  “Look, I’m sorry – “

“It doesn’t have anything to do with _that_ ,” Zayn tells him flatly, an annoyed expression slipping over his face.  “I don’t like the water.”

“What?” Liam tries not to look shocked or confused but he’s certain he does an awful job at it when Zayn drops his brow, tilts his head further back while dropping his book onto his chest.

“I’m scared of the water.  I’ve been like this since I was young,” Zayn explains, his eyes looking everywhere but Liam’s face.  He taps his fingers along the spine of the book, teeth biting unforgivingly at his lip like he’s having flashbacks.  He shifts fingers through his hair, pulling at the quiff until the product finally gives way.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Liam offers, stepping a little closer.  He leans on the back of the couch, lips pushing out into a small pout.

Zayn rolls his eyes, pulling his legs up until his feet are flat on the couch and his knees are bent.  “My family went on holiday to a lake.  You know, the typical thing.  I was seven and my cousins insisted we go down to the lake to run around.  I, unlike Doniya, didn’t know how to swim though.  One of my cousins thought it would be funny to push me in.”

Liam watches the way Zayn visibly shakes, eyes shifting shut.  He digs his own elbow into the fabric of the couch, a hand reaching out and he doesn’t know why he does it but he rests a hand on Zayn’s stomach.  He rubs soothingly until Zayn stops wincing, eyes blinking open again.

“I couldn’t figure out how to get back to the surface.  I was kicking and yelling and choking on that dirty water until my mum pulled me out,” Zayn admits, his voice caught in his throat.  His hand shifts, slides down until it’s resting on top of Liam’s, covering it.  “I… I couldn’t stop crying.  And my mum, she promised I was alright but I wasn’t.  I couldn’t look at the water, be around it.  I was terrified of the bathtub for weeks and, shit, I’m such a pussy because I can’t even get into a fucking hot tub without panicking because I _can’t_ swim, Liam.  I hate the water and that’s it.”

Liam nods slowly, rubbing gently with Zayn’s hand following every one of his movements.  He feels the definition of Zayn’s abdomen, over his navel, up high until he almost touches Zayn’s ribs.  Zayn’s warm beneath his palm, tense but soft at the same time.  And Zayn’s still looking up at the ceiling, rubbing at his bottom lip like he’s afraid tears will slip down his face.

Liam winces because, he knows, he would catch each and every one of them if they did slide down his face.

“Hey,” Liam says lowly, calming smile spreading over his lips and the idea hits him as soon as Zayn’s eyes rest on him.  “Wait right here for me, yeah?”

Zayn’s brow knits together, lips pushing together as he eyes Liam.  He hesitates, it’s in the way his jaw tenses, before he nods for Liam.

Liam grins at him, gently slipping his hand from beneath Zayn’s.  He misses that warmth too quickly, his body feeling cold and exposed when he leans back.  He pulls off the towel, drapes it on the end of the couch before turning away, jogging cautiously toward that glass door.  He slips a little on the hardwood, catching himself and he feels something sickeningly pleasant spread over him when he hears Zayn giggling from the couch.

He swipes a few unused shot glasses from last night off the counter, sprinting outside.  He shoves everything at Louis, watches a few glasses tumble from Louis’ hands into the water but he doesn’t stick around long enough to hear Louis’ complaining or Niall’s beckoning for more limes, some salt.  He slides back inside, slamming the glass door shut and he contemplates locking it but he honestly doesn’t want to hear their pounding and griping when they’re all shitfaced and ready for bed.

Liam nearly hops back to the couch, snatching up his towel because he’s still wet from the water.  Zayn’s sitting up now, feet propped up on the coffee table while he reads.  Liam smiles down at him, neatly folding the towel up into a thick surface before laying it over a few of the cushions next to Zayn, Zayn peeking away from the book curiously.  Liam ignores Zayn’s pointed looks for a moment, pushing his hair up into a miniature quiff with a grin that unsettles Zayn.

Zayn snorts, head shaking before he’s pushing his glasses up onto his forehead.  “What the fuck are you doing Liam?”

“Making you smile,” Liam says with a shrug, grin lifting when Zayn chuckles lowly.  “Mission accomplished?”

“You’re a dork.”

“That’s a good thing,” Liam declares, finally sliding down onto the couch.  He hesitates for a second, Zayn scooting over a little to make room for him and, fuck it, he doesn’t want Zayn to move away.

Liam throws his legs up onto the couch, turning, and he’s lying down, taking up most of the room left on the couch with his head easing into Zayn’s lap.  Zayn looks down at him with wide eyes but Liam’s grinning up at him like this is natural.  And, maybe, it is for Liam.  He’s not too sure and, yeah, he doesn’t care too much to sort it out.

“Now what are you doing?” Zayn finally asks, his eyebrow arched high.

Liam offers him a small shrug, tipping his head further back on Zayn’s thighs.  “Read to me.”

“Excuse me?”

“Read to me,” Liam repeats, dragging each word out with an annoyed tone.  “I haven’t read it yet.”

“You do realize we have a paper due Friday, yeah?”

Liam nods carelessly, cheeks pushing higher with a smile.  “Then I suppose you had better start before I fail.”

“I don’t know if I’m opposed to that,” Zayn tells him, lowering the book some.

Liam offers him a wounded expression, scoffing at the way Zayn’s nose wrinkles with a smirk.

“Read you little shit.”

“Be nice,” Zayn insists, lowering a hand until it settles onto Liam’s chest, slinking over his skin until it rests over Liam’s thumping heart.  He admires the bird tattooed on the back of Zayn’s hand, the way his fingers jump a little when Liam’s heart thuds against his chest.  Liam feels his cheeks heat up, embarrassment becoming an unfortunate familiar sensation when he’s around Zayn.

“Come on Zayn,” Liam huffs out, legs spreading to get more comfortable and he gives Zayn a sideways smile.  “ _Please_.”

“Oh, now you have manners?” Zayn teases, thumbing back a few pages to the beginning of the book.  “Why haven’t you read it yourself?”

“I don’t like Shakespeare,” Liam admits, his tone flat.

Zayn inhales sharply, his brow lowering and he looks pale.  “How can you not like _Shakespeare_?”

“How can you not like _sports_?” Liam chides back, trying to hold onto a serious expression but his cheeks crack and he’s giggling at the way Zayn’s lips push out into a pout.

“I didn’t say I didn’t _like_ sports,” Zayn counters, shrugging a shoulder.  “I just don’t partake in them.  I don’t enjoy them.”

“Well I don’t enjoy reading,” Liam says right back, chin lifting defiantly and Zayn’s drumming his long fingers on Liam’s chest now.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“As are you,” Liam replies with a grin, his hand dragging up his chest until it settles over Zayn’s.  He lets his fingers slide between Zayn’s, pressing down so that Zayn can’t pull away.

He knows he’s walking a thin line.  Zayn could easily jerk away, force himself off of the couch and leave Liam behind.  He could remind Liam that _he_ is the asshole, he’s the one that didn’t stand up for Zayn.  But there’s something just on the edge of his senses that tells him Zayn doesn’t mind this, the closeness they share when there’s no one else around.  There’s a hope that Zayn actually remembered every second of that kiss, that he could’ve liked it, that he could’ve wanted it again as much as Liam has been since he saw the sun glowing around Zayn this morning.

“I think I’ll understand it better if you read to me,” Liam finally says, tipping his head back a little more to look up into Zayn’s eyes – they’re auburn in this light.  Zayn gives him a small nod before Liam’s adding, “I used to listen to you read all the time.”  He bites at his lip, blush broadening across his cheeks but he refuses to take his eyes from Zayn.

“When I was confused or stuck on something, I could hear your voice in the back of my mind.  It’s like I got it all then.  I don’t know what it was,” Liam admits, his voice stretched but soft.

“Drugs?” Zayn offers, a blank expression craved into his face.

Liam snorts, eyes rolling.  “No.  You just make things sound, I don’t know, simpler.”

Zayn snorts this time, shooting Liam a look of disbelief but he doesn’t allow Liam to respond.  He clears his throat, slouching a little until Liam’s head is resting high on his thighs, his thumb sweeping over one of Liam’s nipples before he begins – “Of thunder and lightning heard.”

**

Liam doesn’t sleep in.  When the sun peaks into his bedroom every morning, he tries cowering under his duvet for a few minutes but it’s no use.  He’s tried hanging thicker curtains across the window, dipping deeper under the sheets when the birds chirp outside but, no, none of it works.  And he doesn’t hate mornings, not like Louis does with a burning passion.  Or the way Niall complains, dragging his feet across the ground until Louis offers him a can of Coke and suddenly he’s a burst of sunshine far worse than anything peeking through those curtains hanging in Liam’s room.

Sometimes Liam wakes up before the sun can reach that height in the sky that haunts him.  He rolls out of bed, slips into a pair of joggers and a jumper, snatching up his iPod and putting it on shuffle before he slides into his trainers by the door, light footsteps down the steps as not to wake his father who probably got in late from work.  His mum will sometimes meet him in the kitchen with a glass of orange juice, a bottled water, and a banana.  Liam always presses a brief kiss to her cheek, laughing quietly when she clings to him like he’s going away forever instead of just around the corner.  He knows she’ll have breakfast for him when he returns, not that he’ll have much time to eat it but her sweet smile as she waves him off reminds him that he’ll find time just for her, just to see that glow on her face when he politely sits at the table, covered in sweat and clothes sticking to him just to shovel some eggs in his mouth with his cheeks pushed high.

He doesn’t manage to get up early enough while away at the cabin.  Maybe it’s the fresh air, the way the sun peeks hits the other side of the cabin rather than Liam and Zayn’s window.  He wants to blame it on complete exhaustion but he remembers falling asleep on that couch, Zayn’s voice calming and distant as he read through each portion of Shakespeare like it was as easy as a Dr. Seuss book to understand.  He can still feel Zayn’s fingers on his hairline, even when he woke in the middle of the night curled up on that couch, alone with a duvet pulled up over his shoulders.  He can still see the moon casting blues and ivories over Zayn’s sleeping face when he crept into their room, sitting on the edge of his bed just to watch the way Zayn tossed and turned, a hand draped over his eyes with something resembling a smile on those pinkish lips.

Liam felt alive in those brief minutes, his skin tingling with goosebumps and, yeah, he could fall asleep every night to that face.  He could imagine curling up to that lean body, arms pulling Zayn closer and, when he lays his head down, he doesn’t think anything could make him feel more at peace.

He manages to climb out of bed after ten this morning, head heavy and there’s a pounding at the back of it that he wishes he could blame on alcohol but he didn’t have any the night before.  Zayn’s bed is empty and unmade and Liam manages to grumble something at the empty mattress before stumbling toward the bathroom to brush his teeth, hop in the shower, and it’s not until he’s drying his hair that he finally feels awake.  He yawns in the mirror, toying with his hair and he bares down on his bottom lip, trying not to grin at all the product scattered across the sink because he knows its Zayn’s.

There’s no orange juice or piece of fruit waiting for him when he moves lazily down the steps.  He can smell fresh coffee – hopefully not something Niall’s made because, for someone who never really drinks the stuff, he’s awful at making it – and there’s soft music filling the living area – definitely not something Harry picked out – with Zayn nowhere in sight.  He hates that he’s more than a little disappointed by that, searching the dining area and kitchen with his eyes but he still can’t find him.

Harry and Niall are on the couch, shoving each other playfully with manic laughter as they play FIFA – because, obviously, that’s the next game one would play after already conquering bowling – while Louis rests on his back, a hand thrown over his eyes like he’s trying to will away the sun while his toes drum along to the music shifting through the room.  Harry howls when he makes a goal, scrubbing his knuckles over Niall’s already mused hair, both in nothing but pajama pants and socks, and Louis’ groaning loudly, digging a foot into Harry’s side until Harry’s quiet again, swatting at Louis.

“Silence Harold,” Louis demands, his voice still rough and dragging from sleep.  “I demand it and my will shall be done.”

“I’m so gonna kick your ass at Angry Birds,” Niall declares, elbowing Harry when Harry’s team goes for an on-side kick.

Harry laughs lowly, kicking Niall’s foot until he tips sideways.  “Your ass is mine.”

“And no declarations of wanting another man’s ass in my presence,” Louis orders, his voice straining now.  He smiles behind his forearm, humming softly.  “Not unless you’re wanting mine.”

Liam watches Harry’s eyes grow impossibly wider, looking at Louis with his mouth gaping open and Niall smirks, shoving at Harry’s head before scoring a goal of his own.

“Sucker,” Niall bites out, his face scrunching when Harry lifts his head, a scowl ruling his face.

“And no discussion of sucking unless – “

“Seriously, Lou,” Niall groans, tossing a pillow at Louis.

Louis shrugs, humming along to the music – _If you are chilly, here take my sweater. Your head is aching, I’ll make it better. ‘Cause I love the way you call me ‘baby.’_

“Is this really how you lot plan to spend a weekend in the woods?  Playing video games and drinking?” Liam asks, frustration mounting in his words.

Niall shrugs carelessly, knocking his shoulder into Harry’s before he can score.

“It’s not the _worst_ plan,” Harry replies first, glancing over his shoulder at Liam with a weak expression.

“It’s the _best_ plan,” Niall concurs, moaning when Harry manages to blindside him.  “I could use a beer, Liam.”

Liam’s tempted to find something to throw at Niall but he refrains, folding his arms over his chest as Niall and Harry continue to shove at each other with laughs and grins.

“Would you prefer we sit around listening to Kelly Clarkson and talking about our feelings?” Louis offers, waving his hand around in the air.  He pauses for a second, pulling his arm from his face and he looks thoughtful.  “Wait, that doesn’t sound like an awful idea.”

Liam groans, dragging his fingers through that thick tuft of hair at the top of his head.  He ignores the way Louis claps along to the music – _And you take me the way I am_ – to settle his eyes on the way Harry has Niall in a headlock, Niall still scrambling to score the next goal.  They’re fucking kids high on sugar and caffeine.

“I listen to Kelly when I’m shagging,” Niall announces when he frees himself from Harry’s grip.  He rustles his fingers through his hair, a mild attempt at fixing it, before adding, “But when I really want a good fuck?  I listen to Shaggy.”

“Banging on the bathroom floor?” Louis questions, lifting his head just enough to smile at Niall with a quirked eyebrow.

Niall nods proudly, happily bumping his fist against Harry’s.

Liam bites at the temptation to sing along, word for word, to toss an empty water bottle at Niall’s head.  He grins when he hits his mark, Niall lopping forward with a groan.

“You lot are useless,” Liam huffs out, stomping around the couch to the front door.  He slides into his untied trainers, frowning at the mud from playing football dried around the edges.

“That’s a compliment, right?” Niall asks, looking to Harry and Louis.  Harry snorts before Louis chucks the pillow from earlier back at Niall’s head.

Liam sighs, sliding into his discarded jumper hanging off the closet door before pushing open the door and escaping into the stiff, cool air.  Liam hugs himself briskly, wishes he would’ve grabbed Harry’s beanie or an extra coat because it’s fairly chilly even though the sun is high and the skies are painted an almost powder blue.  The tops of his ears are stinging from the cold, his tongue running over chapped lips before he’s filing down the steps.

He takes in a deep breath of air, his nose wrinkling for a second when his lungs are filled with smoke rather than the scent of pine and dying leaves.  He glances to his right, trying not to fumble over a smile when he catches Zayn sitting on a tree stump, stubbing out a cigarette with hooded eyes.  Liam has to put a hand over his brow to block out the sun, gazing on the way Zayn’s skin is a brilliant sunglow, his hair pulled up into a quiff with a scarf hanging off of his neck and a blue and red plaid button down on.  That scruff is completely shaven now and Zayn looks fifteen again, the light from the sun exposing a freckling of gold over olive in his eyes.  His lips are twisting into a smile, Liam’s breath hitching on the way Zayn’s rubbing at his knees, scuffing his boots on the ground before pushing up to stand.

“I’m just,” Liam pauses for a moment, hands desperate to run across Zayn’s cheeks to see how truly soft they are without the scruff, “I’m just going to go on a hike.  I mean, if you were wondering that is.”

“I kind of wasn’t,” Zayn says, biting at his lip but he’s still smiling.

Liam nods, hates how cheeky Zayn looks but, fuck, he’s kind of attracted to that side now.

“Well, then, I guess I just told you for no reason,” Liam mutters, his tone uneven but he’s shrugging like he doesn’t care.  He knows, Zayn probably does too, that he actually _does_ care.

Liam turns to move along the rocky trail leading toward the woods but Zayn’s clearing his throat, saying, “Wait.”

Liam hates how he stops immediately.  He should put up more resistance.  He needs to ask Louis how he plays the role of an asshole so believably but he doesn’t think he can stand to listen to Louis’ gloating for that long.

Zayn strides up to him, jogs a little because Liam starts to pace along the same path he was moving until Zayn’s right next to him, their shoulders practically bumping as Zayn tries to keep up.

“What?” Liam snaps, his voice harsh even though he’s not trying.

“I’m coming with you.”

“I didn’t say you could,” Liam says flatly, his jaw tensing.

His head still throbs a little and he’s quite certain he’s not in the mood to try and figure Zayn out anymore.  He never should’ve in the first place because he knows, come Tuesday, they’ll ignore each other’s existence in the halls again, pretend not to notice the other even when they’re five feet away because that’s how it’s been for far too many years now.

Zayn stops, feet crunching rocks into the ground.  He blinks at Liam, lips edging downward.  “Can I?”

“Can you what?” Liam hisses, shoving his hands into his pockets as his steps slow a little as if he’s waiting for Zayn to catch up.

Zayn swallows, kicking at a few rocks.

“Out with it Zayn,” Liam says with a sharp tongue.  He’s never usually this mean but, fuck, Zayn’s working through every one of his senses, sticking to parts of Liam he never bothered paying attention to.  And, yeah, he hates the way his stomach drops when Zayn’s silent for a few more beats like he’s thinking about it.  Like he’s painfully shy and can’t say it out loud.

“Can I come with you Liam?”

His voice is quiet, drown out by the way the wind howls for a second, whipping at Liam’s backside.  He shivers, takes a small glance over his shoulder to where Zayn’s watching him, a full blown frown and, really, he needs to grow that scruff back out because he looks incredibly boyish and sexy and, fuck it all, Liam actually wishes for a brief second that he had a proper wank in the shower earlier to the image of Zayn beneath him, whispering Liam’s name like a forbidden prayer while Liam moved slowly in and out of Zayn.

Liam holds onto a sigh, swallows it back before spinning on his heels to face Zayn.  He tilts his head to watch Zayn, the way he’s toying with the hem of his shirt, pulling at the scarf until it’s uneven before fixing it again.  Liam doesn’t have the strength to keep the smile on his face at bay and his cheeks hurt from the way it pushes at them.

“C’mon,” Liam finally says, jerking his head toward the trail.

Liam thinks it’s the most enchanting thing ever – the way Zayn’s face lights up, the way he tries to seem incredibly cool about it all like he didn’t give a shit either way but his grin betrays him and there’s a little skip to his walk as he moves closer to Liam.  Liam bites at his tongue, holds in a chuckle before turning back around, waiting until Zayn’s next to him before they’re walking, side-by-side like best mates would.  Like Liam hopes they will one day when they see each other in the halls.

Liam doesn’t veer from the trail already established by the campgrounds.  He doesn’t know the area well enough and he’s a little weary about moving through the thick trees and open woods with Zayn.  They cross over a stream, Zayn clutching Liam’s hips the entire way, down a few hills where there are far too many rocks, and they actually stop when they spot a small family of deer.  Liam takes video of them, grinning the entire time until he turns around to find Zayn taking video and pictures of him with his own phone, smiling at Liam like he’s… _precious_?  Liam shakes that off, trying to grab at Zayn’s phone until Zayn’s leaping back and laughing, telling Liam to say something sweet for the camera.

“This is the last video footage ever taken by Zayn Malik?” Liam offers, his brow knit together, and Zayn frowns, head shaking.

“Uncool, Liam,” Zayn says before turning the phone on himself.  “More to come later from the Life and Times of Liam James Payne, Woodsman.”

Liam snorts, reaching out and grabbing Zayn’s arm to drag him further up the path.

He doesn’t know how long they’ve been walking – half an hour, maybe? – before they reach a steep hill that Liam easily maneuvers up.  He looks back when Zayn finally catches up, panting desperately like he can’t breathe with his hands on his knees while leaning over.  Liam grins, takes a few steps back to rub at Zayn’s shoulder.  He knows this isn’t Zayn’s idea of fun but Zayn’s humoring Liam.

“I fucking hate you,” Zayn says, his breathing too labored for all of the words to come out smoothly.  “You should know I’m planning on murdering once I get some service out here so I can GPS my way back to the cabin.”

Liam feels a laugh tickle against his belly, shaking his head as Zayn bows his, deep inhales that leave him gasping.

“If you quit smoking – “

“I’ll _die_ ,” Zayn says dramatically, snapping upright.  He thumps at his chest, choking on another gasp for air.  “Don’t you dare suggest that.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“And you’re so are you,” Zayn heaves out, hands on his hips.  “I thought we already had this conversation.”

Liam nods with a snicker.  He watches Zayn wipe the sweat from his face with the sleeve of his shirt, his hair already starting to stick to his head and Liam reaches out to run his thumb over Zayn’s bottom lip, sliding down over his chin.  He pulls his hand away, biting down on a smirk when Zayn smiles at him.  He glances around, squirrels chasing each other and birds taking flight in the sky before courage swallows him.

“C’mon,” he says lowly, reaching down and tangling his fingers with Zayn’s.

Zayn quirks his eyebrow, lips pushing outward but Liam doesn’t pay it any mind.  He tightens his grip on Zayn’s hand before tugging him off the path.  They don’t move too far away, Liam’s nerves getting the best of him when he catches the way Zayn keeps looking around warily.  He drags Zayn to a large tree, the trunk thick and aging with leaves spiraling down from above.  The tree reaches high into the sky, nearly touching the heavens and it’s only filtering streaks of sunlight above them, streams of light dancing over patches of grass and dirt.

Liam presses his palm flat against Zayn’s chest, gently pushing him back toward the tree until Zayn’s spine meets bark, Zayn’s eyes going dark while Liam looks at him curiously.

“Planning to kill me before I kill you?” Zayn asks, his voice stiff.

Liam laughs lowly, keeping his hand in the middle of Zayn’s chest while stepping forward.  He shakes his head, inclining forward.  There’s a question in his eyes, his head lingering back until Zayn nibbles at his bottom lip, eyes searching over Liam’s face before he’s nodding, smiling.  It’s the silent permission Liam needs before he closes the gap between them.

Liam licks at his lips before sealing their lips together.  Zayn’s lips are chapped but soft.  He’s got a hand on the side of Liam’s face, fingers splayed while his thumb runs over the thick blonde scruff along Liam’s chin.  Liam slides a hand to Zayn’s hip, pulling him forward while sliding his thumb into one of Zayn’s belt loops.  He feels Zayn’s other hand slide over the nape of his neck, keeping him close as their lips rub gently together, quiet kisses that Liam never knew he was in love with until they came from Zayn.

Zayn gasps into the kiss, Liam snaking his tongue in to taste cigarettes, mint gum, something acidic like oranges or lemons.  He runs the tip of his tongue over the roof of Zayn’s mouth, smiling into the kiss when Zayn arches his back, their crotches rubbing together for a brief moment.  Liam lets Zayn nibble at his lip, eyes batting open to watch the way Zayn looks while he kisses.

He likes a painter, calculated but free with his form.  His lips stroke brilliant colors across Liam’s senses, lashes pressed against his cheeks like long, thin shadows.  He breathes through his nose, his tongue etching long lines over Liam’s.  His teeth nip at the tip of Liam’s tongue, creating a masterpiece across the canvas of Liam’s lips.  He’s tangled in it all, panting as Zayn wets his lips before they’re slipping against each other again, Liam easing a hand to the small of Zayn’s back to pull him closer, Zayn’s throbbing erection pressing against Liam’s thigh.

Liam pops the top button of Zayn’s shirt, hissing when Zayn ruts his hips just right and catches Liam’s cock with his own.  He presses his lips a little firmer, thoughts of yanking down that zipper and fisting his hand into Zayn’s pants until thick white come covers his fingers running across his mind.  He shifts his legs apart, lets Zayn settle between them and everything is pants, lips, and tongue.

“Liam!  Liam Payne, get your arse out here before I send out the hounds!”

“Do we have hounds?”

“Niall, please.  I’m doing this for dramatic effect.”

“You think Zayn’s with him?  We could offer him cigarettes.”

“Brilliant idea, Harry.  Now if you’d like to put that mouth to use later with – “

“Lou, _focus_.”

“I am.  But have you seen the way he looks when he’s talking?  Fucking distraction, that green-eyed beauty from Mount Olympus.  I swear, Niall, I would ruin him and run my tongue right down between his cheeks and he’d – “

“Lou!  You better be talking about the cheeks on his face.”

“Yes, you wanker.  I sound like a proper grandmother, yeah?  Cheeks on his face, my arse.”

Liam giggles against Zayn’s lips, drawing back but not far enough because Zayn’s fingers are still digging into the back of his neck.  They’re breathless, Zayn’s pupils blown wide and his lips are swollen, a gorgeous pink hue that Liam drags his thumb over to swipe away the spit.  Zayn’s beautiful like this, beneath the shadows with his eyebrows lowered, lips parted, chest heaving.

“We could be quiet,” Zayn says, his voice rough.

Liam snorts, trailing fingers across Zayn’s chest while Zayn drags small nails over Liam’s neck, down his birthmark.

“It’s too open out here,” Liam tells him, brushing the tip of his nose against Zayn’s.  “Plus I still sort of hate you.”

Zayn tips his head back against the tree, lips pushing sideways.  “Good.  Glad the feeling is mutual.”

“You don’t kiss like you hate me,” Liam says, leaning in a little closer.

“I’m convincing enough,” Zayn says, refusing to let Liam move in any closer.  “Plus I’m fucking horny.  Haven’t had a proper fuck in weeks.”

Liam balks at him, eyes going a bit wide when Zayn’s hand slides down over his stomach, over the erection that’s tenting his sweats.

“You seem like you’d be decent in bed.”

“You’re an asshole,” Liam huffs out.  He considers smacking Zayn’s hand away but, really, he’s horny too and, _fuck_ , if Zayn’s kisses were magical than his hand was sinful.

“So you’ve told me,” Zayn teases, letting his hand drop away.  “Or so people have told me.  You seem to tell loads of people that.”

“Can’t help what’s massively true,” Liam says nonchalantly, shrugging as he pulls back.  He adjusts himself freely in front of Zayn, grinning when Zayn’s eyes linger on his crotch for a little too long.  He doesn’t deny it makes his cock twitch, press against the offensively tight material of his boxers.

Zayn flips him off with a sideways smirk.  Liam rolls his eyes on cue, reaching out to drag Zayn forward by his shirt.

“We need to get back,” Liam insists, his fingers digging into the fabric of Zayn’s shirt and he’s considering pulling Zayn by the scarf just to kiss him again, drag his lips down Zayn’s neck until he leaves a mark and Zayn’s whimpering.

“Liam James Payne!”

Louis’ shrill voice is enough to stop him.  He releases Zayn’s shirt, ignoring the way Zayn’s glaring at him like he can’t stand Liam, or like he wants to fuck Liam against one of the trees.

When they stumble out of the clearing, Liam first with Zayn several steps behind him, Louis’ standing with his hands on his hips, Harry seated on the ground while Niall walks around in circles humming the theme to _Hollyoaks_.  Liam pushes his fingers through his hair, eyes looking downward while Zayn shoulders past him with a scowl, pulling his lighter from his back pocket.

“Where have you two been?” Louis asks, his voice a tight hiss.

“Hiking,” Liam spits out quickly, shrugging his shoulders defiantly at Louis.  He looks up, refuses to twitch when Louis eyes him distrustfully.

There’s a spark of blush riding his cheeks when Louis’ eyes run over Zayn’s shirt, the bulge in Liam’s sweats, the way both their lips are red and Zayn’s hair is more than a little ruffled.  Louis nods slowly, glaring at Liam before he’s grinning like he’s proud of Liam.  Liam looks away quickly, digging the toe of his trainers into the dirt.  He wonders if he can dig a large enough hole to bury himself in.

“Well, let me take you lot on a proper hike across the woods.  There’s plenty of fantastic things to see out here,” Louis decides, reaching down to help Harry up.  It’s mostly Harry pushing himself up but Liam knows Harry appreciates Louis’ effort.

Louis smirks at Liam once more, chuckling at the way Liam turns a bright red under his gaze before he’s walking up a shallow hill, glancing back to make sure Harry’s following.

“There had better be plenty of nosh on this silly hike,” Niall declares, dragging his feet as he falls in line behind Harry.  “Or half-naked lasses.  Preferably the upper half.  Loads of knockers like in those _Friday the 13 th_ films.”

Liam grins, waits a few beats before he turns to Zayn whose still flicking that damn lighter with a cigarette behind his ear.  He’s not really moving but he’s bouncing from foot to foot, all jittery motions like he’s upset or nervous or, fuck, Liam’s not sure but it makes him slightly uncomfortable.  But then Zayn eyes him, running his tongue over his lips and Liam knows Zayn can still taste him there because he can still taste Zayn every time he swallows.

“Don’t want to get left behind,” Zayn notes, jerking his head to where Niall’s already starting to get out of focus and Harry and Louis are completely missing from Liam’s eyesight.

Liam nods slowly like he’s thinking about it.  He could follow or he could stay, here with Zayn.  He knows the second option isn’t really a good idea or a practical one because Louis will only come back for them, shouting and raving like a complete psycho.  Louis’ rather good at that.

Liam decides he’s not leaving Zayn behind either, reaching out and grabbing Zayn’s hand.  He waits until Zayn lifts his chin, gives him permission because Liam’s not the kind of guy who just makes things happen the way he wants in his head.  It’s probably his biggest downfall but he’s honest about it.

There’s a twitch at the corner of Zayn’s lips before he’s smiling quietly, still flicking the flame on his lighter while shifting his hand until his long fingers slide between Liam’s thicker ones.  He grips Liam’s hand loosely, ready to let go if anyone bothered to look at them but it’s enough for Liam.  It’s enough that a smile creeps over Liam’s lips and he nods at Zayn, pulling him a little closer before he starts to follow behind Niall.  Zayn stays close even though Liam takes longer strides and Zayn’s still a bit exhausted from climbing the last hill.

Liam tries to will away that smile on his lips but he can’t.  He can smell pine, autumn air turning cold and wintery, and peaches and vanilla.  He thinks he’s only going to remember those two scents later on and, fuck, it’s a problem he’s not willing to deal with right now.

**

The fire is crackling, the snap and pop of wood echoing against the quiet air.  It’s a flickering orange light dancing in the purple sky.  The flames rise higher and higher, embers being carried by the silent wind that sweeps through from time to time.  They’re huddled around the bonfire with sticks holding marshmallows, beer cans everywhere, laughter like electric guitars in the midst of a hurricane.  The heat makes them shrug out of their jackets and scarves, fingers reaching out enough to feel the waves of combustion until it’s almost too hot and you have to pull back.  Niall’s strumming on his acoustic guitar, Harry and Andy smacking hands against their thighs to provide the percussion that almost overpowers Niall’s voice but he’s singing full out with a sideways snapback on his head and a foot stomping against the dirt.

Their sitting on fold out chairs, tree stumps, broken pieces of wood, and blankets.  Phoebe’s snuggled to Nathan, Andy’s arm slung around Jade’s shoulders while Cher taps a hand on Harry’s leg to the beat of the song.  Eleanor clinks her glass bottle of Coke to Max’s while Greg hangs behind, leaning against a tree while eyeing them all with a can of beer to his lips.  Niall has that gleeful grin on his lips, shoulders moving with his brisk fingers and his voice carries louder than Brandon Flowers’ could – _I knew it when I met you, I’m not gonna let you runaway. I knew it when I held you, I wasn’t letting go._

Louis has an arm strewn around Eleanor’s shoulders, resting his head against hers while sipping slowly at a Corona.  Liam pulls his jumper close, watching the way Louis’ eyeing Cher, her hand slipping higher on Harry’s thigh as his voice slips just beneath Niall’s – _Ain’t we all just runaways?_   He’s chewing at his bottom lip, digging the heel of his Tom’s into the dirt and his blue eyes are glazed with something dark when Cher giggles, leans her head into the crook of Harry’s neck while Eleanor’s fingers play in Louis’ slicked back hair.

Liam leans forward, elbows on his knees while watching the fire.  He can see through the break of the flames to where gold eyes are even lighter against the dancing flames.  He sighs softly – _We used to look at the stars and confess our dreams_ – sipping at his already warm beer before ducking his head.  He doesn’t want to watch the way Perrie’s running her fingers over the back of Zayn’s neck, giggling into his ear with aqua colored nails running over the tattoos on Zayn’s forearm.  They’ve been like that for four songs now – not that Liam was counting, but he sort of was – with the scent of her perfume drowning out the smell of the burning wood, the forest green, that hint of vanilla beneath cigarette smell that clings to Zayn’s body.  He takes another swallow of beer, wonders how long he plans to look at them and hate the day Perrie Edwards stepped foot into their school with her purple hair, too large blue eyes, and glossy smile that either had the guys fancying a chat with her or wanting to screw her in one of the bathroom stalls.

Liam tips his head toward Phoebe who’s wailing along with Niall and Harry now – _We can’t wait ‘til tomorrow. Now we’re caught up in the appeal, baby, why you wanna hide it?_ He smiles gently, another gulp of sour beer that he wants to toss away but it’s making his thoughts fuzzy and frayed.  He nods his head along, Eleanor kissing softly at Louis’ neck while he glares at Cher, the way she’s practically climbing into Harry’s lap with tittering laughs that make Louis grip the neck of his bottle until it almost cracks under the pressure.

Liam pretends he doesn’t know how Louis feels.  He honestly doesn’t.  Louis has Eleanor, the gorgeous girl clinging to him, the one person who’s managed to stick around this long even though Louis is a complete ass to everyone except her, Niall, or Liam.  But he’s looking at Harry like Harry should be his.  Liam knows he shouldn’t.  Liam knows Harry would just be another forgettable memory in the endless collection of men Louis’ bedded without consequence.  Well, without consequence to himself.  He’s certain Todd, Andrew, even Aiden were still a bit sore over the things that transpired between Louis and them.

And it’s not like Liam understands that jealousy.  Not fully.  What does he have to be jealous of?  Zayn wasn’t _his_ ; he didn’t want Zayn to be.  But he did.  Fuck, he did in the worst way now because Perrie was pressing a kiss to his cheek, hugging onto him like she knew what Zayn’s kisses tasted like, like she could hold Zayn in his weakest moments, like she even knew that Zayn loved _the Avengers_ and likes reading and sounds amazing when he’s singing lowly to his favorite songs.  His heart is beating out of rhythm and he’s hot, scooting back from the fire until he can breathe but he can’t because he wants her to go away.  He wants this thought – the one that involves him wanting Zayn to smile at him like he _wants_ Liam; not like he may or may not be a mate – to go the fuck away before he drowns in its wild glory.

He doesn’t recognize the burn down the center of his chest.  He hates how his fingers shake.  He’s spent more than a few years hating everything about Zayn Malik.  The way he talks, the way he carries himself, the way he makes Liam and all of his friends feel like assholes for being who they are.  He hates that Zayn never gave him a chance, let whatever bleak meaning of friendship they created fade away like the credits of a good film.

Liam pulls another beer from the cooler, cracking open the can before sipping slowly at it.  Zayn’s running a slow trail down the center of her back with his hand.  His stomach tightens, eyes narrowing.  He tries to focus on Niall’s voice – _Ain’t we all just runaways?_ – but he can’t.  He looks at Cher, the way her eyes are dark and seductive but Harry’s are still full of life, unaware.  Eleanor’s face is falling a little when Louis won’t look at her, annoyance set into his lips before he’s sucking beer through the neck of that bottle, pushing the lime further down into the bottle.  Jade’s yawning, leaning further into Andy while Greg crushes a can in his hand, tossing it at the fire.  And, fuck, Zayn’s looking at him from across the fire with worry settling into those eyes.  Liam feels confined, unable to breathe for a few seconds until he shifts his eyes closed and remembers that it’s all different come Tuesday.  They’re all different come Tuesday.

Perrie leans in closer, whispers something into Zayn’s ear that he smirks at.  He strings long fingers through her hair, lifting an eyebrow.

“Meet you in your cabin later?” he says loud enough for Liam to hear and Liam feels sick.

Perrie giggles, slapping at his shoulder before nodding, easing off of him.  She snaps her fingers at Jade who startles awake, easing away from Andy before linking hands with Perrie, following her down the path back to the cabin Eleanor’s family owned.

Niall’s voice fades off, the sound of the fire bursting hanging in the air until Niall strums a softer tune, grinning when Harry cheers and Eleanor sighs, scooting away from Louis.  He barely notices, Liam can tell, because he reaches for her unfinished beer, sipping at it like it’s his own.  Cher eases off the log, sidestepping the fire to nestle in between Max and Eleanor, offering her shoulder for Eleanor to lean on while tapping her fingers on her bare knee to the sounds of Niall’s strumming.

Liam bites at his lip, taking in an uneasy breath that smells like burning embers, the rush of the wind, and peaches.  He shakes, looks to his right and he’s misses it when Zayn moved from his previous spot but now Zayn was settling down next to Liam, a quiet smile on his lips.  He’s peeling a melting marshmallow off a stick, blowing at his fingers like it’s too hot before he’s sandwiching it between a small piece of chocolate and two graham crackers.

Liam averts his eyes for a second, chewing at his lip as Phoebe tosses an unburned marshmallow into Niall’s open mouth, clapping loudly while Harry hums his approval lowly – _You were in college working part-time waiting tables. Left a small town, never looked back._ He scans his eyes back to Zayn, who’s licking sticky sweetness from his thumb, sucking on his index finger.  He grins around it, that dizzy gold in his eyes leaving Liam numb.

“She’s quite fit,” Liam stutters out, pulling his knees up to his chest, rocking on the ground.

Zayn’s brow lifts curiously, looking around.  Something crosses over his face and, yeah, Liam can tell he puts it all together.

“Perrie, huh?” Zayn wonders, biting into his S’more.  He doesn’t wait for Liam to nod back, wiping melting chocolate from around his mouth.  “She’s nice to talk to.  We had a Biology class together a year back.”

“You can’t escape her biology?” Liam offers, cheeks heating up immediately because, fuck, did he really just say that?  He drags his hand down the nape of his neck, sucking on his lip.

“Cheesy, mate,” Zayn says with a flighty laugh, breaking a piece of the S’more off before offering it to Liam.  “You’re honestly trying to flirt with me using Girls Aloud?”

“I’m not trying to – “ Liam’s words are cut off when Zayn carefully feeds the piece of S’more to him, fingers waiting on the edge of Liam’s lips until Liam cautiously licks his tongue out, swipes away the melting chocolate and crumbs from Zayn’s fingertips.

Zayn smiles shamelessly, ducking his head a little before drawing his hand back.  He drags that hand through his hair, tangling his fingers in the thickness until the blush manages to lift from his cheeks.

“I’m not interested,” Zayn says carefully, blinking at Liam for a moment before adding, “In _her_ , I mean.  I’m not interested in Perrie.  I don’t fancy her, at all.”

Liam nods slowly, tries to feel assured.  And he thinks he is when the flames spin around Zayn’s eyes, highlight the genuineness beneath his long lashes.

“Are you interested in anyone?” Liam wonders, rocking a little slower and he feels more than slightly embarrassed this time, dropping his eyes away – _I was a flight risk with a fear of falling. Wondering why we bothered with love if it never lasts_.  He drags the toe of his trainer over the dirt, drawing odd shapes while trying not to sway with the way Harry’s voice sounds layered with Phoebe’s.

“Would you be jealous if it wasn’t _you_?” Zayn asks, leaning toward Liam.

“No,” Liam says quickly but even he doesn’t believe it.  He swallows, dragging his thumb over the worn material of his jeans.  “Maybe.  But not completely.”

“Really?”

“No,” Liam sighs, hates the way his mouth curves into a smile, eyes lifting to find Zayn grinning back.

They laugh at each other for a second, Zayn snacking on another piece of the S’more before offering Liam some and Liam leans in this time, tongue swiping over a few more of Zayn’s fingers, unsure if he loves the melting chocolate sliding across his fingers more than that glow in Zayn’s eyes.  It doesn’t matter either way as long as Zayn scooted that much closer to him.

Liam lets Zayn whisper to him about teasing Perrie, never intending to visit her at their cabin.  He inches closer, shoulder pressed to Zayn’s as Zayn talks about meaningless things like his adoration for Selina Kyle in _the Dark Knight Rises_ , the way he feels whenever he hears Bruno Mar’s new album, that stupid jumper his mum makes him wear every Christmas and Liam laughs lowly because he remembers the first time he saw Zayn in it – the sleeves were too long on his small frame and it practically swallowed him with its too bright red material matching the color of Zayn’s cheeks.  He leans his head on Zayn’s shoulder, letting him go on about the brilliance of Shakespeare and the next tattoo he wants to design for himself.

“And the way you smile sometimes,” Zayn says lowly, pulling Liam from whatever dazed feeling he was having.  There’s blush settling against Zayn’s cheeks when Liam lifts his head but he waits until Zayn continues.  “It’s like no one else gets it.  But I do.  I get that it’s so special because you don’t always smile like that.  And you light up the fucking school with that smile but no one seems to get that either.  They take it for granted but, I don’t.  I _get_ it.”

Liam feels something tighten in his stomach but it’s not like earlier.  It’s… _wonderful_.  It warms his skin even though he’s already hot from the fire, the swirl of a breeze doing little to cool this sensation inside of him – _I say, ‘Can you believe it?’ as we’re lying on the couch. The moment I could see it_.

Liam fights at the need to kiss Zayn.  It crosses his mind more than a dozen times, over and over like a song on repeat but he holds back.  He nuzzles his head to Zayn’s shoulder again, hugs his arms around his knees while Zayn scratches his small nails over Liam’s jeans, down over his thigh with his knuckles brushing against Liam’s stomach.

They’re quiet, listening to the crickets and Phoebe and some senseless conversation between Cher and Louis about nothing Liam cares to remember.  He doesn’t move when Eleanor gets up, dusting herself off before turning to walk away.  And Louis doesn’t call for her, grimaces when Cher chucks an empty beer can at him – _You made a rebel of a careless man’s careful daughter._   He knows he should say something comforting to Louis, anything to get him to stop looking at Harry like it’s all his fault, like he still wants to pull on those curls while the headboard of his bed slaps against the wall.  He chews on his lip instead, listens to Zayn as he starts up another conversation.

Zayn points up to the sky, a thick royal purple sweeping across everything and Liam tips his head back a little, listens quietly to the lithe tone in Zayn’s voice.  Zayn’s drawing patterns over the back of Liam’s hand, eyes still looking upward as he goes on about constellations.  He listens to stories about Pegasus and Orion, nods along like he remembers every bit of this from his Literature courses.  Zayn sounds dreamy when he describes the story of Andromeda, sweeping fingers over Liam’s knuckles, across his wrist, sliding underneath until it works his fingers over the first few words of Liam’s tattoo – _You are the best thing that’s ever been mine._

He watches Louis kick a few beer cans, giving Liam a solemn look for a moment like there’s something he should say but his face softens at the way Zayn keeps talking, drawing things out in the sky like the stars are touchable even though they’re so far away that they’re just spots of dying glitter.  He offers Liam a small nod before pushing to his feet, staggering a bit before dropping his head a little and walking toward the cabin.

Niall’s grinning, Cher settling down next to him with her head on his shoulder as his fingers pluck away – _You learn my secrets and you figure out why I’m guarded. You say we’ll never make my parents’ mistakes._   Greg tosses another empty beer can at the fire, nudging Max with his foot and they’re disappearing into the shadows behind the trees.  Andy shifts a hand down Phoebe’s shoulders, letting her draw in closer before grinning at Liam, jerking his head at Zayn like he’s okay with it.  Like Liam should be okay with it and, yeah, Liam’s eyes close for a moment because he wants to be okay with it all.

When the fire dies a little, Harry tapping his long fingers on his knees while Niall sways back and forth, Cher asleep on his shoulder, Liam shivers.  He feels the wind striking his back and Zayn slides an arm around Liam’s back, pulls him that much closer.  Liam forgets how to hate Zayn.  He forgets there’s a period in his life where he and Zayn refused to know each other.  He watches Zayn gnaw at his lower lip like he wants to say something else but he blinks at Liam instead, long lashes sweeping over his cheeks.  And Liam forgets that there was a time he never imagined kissing Zayn just to remember that silly dream he once had about someone wanting him as much as Liam wanted them – _Do you remember all the city lights on the water. You saw me start to believe for the first time._

**

He tries his hardest, but Liam can’t sleep.

He groans, rolling over before clicking on his phone.  The light is a little blinding against his heavy eyes and he groans again because it’s a little before three in the morning.  It’s a little before _three_ – four minutes exactly, but he only thinks about that because he can’t fucking _sleep_ – and his eyes feel heavy but each time he closes them, he feels _nothing_.  He flips onto his back, rolls to his side, kicks the duvet back because he’s too hot before pulling it up to his chest because it’s November and, obviously, the room is still chilly.

He tries flipping the pillows around because everyone knows the other side of the pillow is _always_ cooler.  It does nothing.  He fluffs them, rolls to his other side, draws up into a fetal position – which he feels pretty silly doing and he’s almost certain he only sleeps like that after a good bender – before he flops onto his back again and pounds his fist against the fluffy mattress.

There’s a stirring on the other side of the room, an annoyed sigh pushing past closed lips and Liam tries not to smirk.  He can hear Zayn’s breathing, the sounds a little more frustrated now and he’s not sorry.  Not when they both fell onto their beds after sitting around that dying fire for far too long.  Not when Zayn crawled into his own bed instead of _Liam’s_ , pulling off his clothes before sliding into a pair of sweats – no shirt, not that Liam had been watching but he sort of had – and crawling beneath his own duvet.  And Liam hates how he watched Zayn’s back for far too many minutes, outlining that fantail tattoo that was high on Zayn’s back with just his eyes until he knew Zayn was sleep.  In his own bed, too far from Liam’s touch.

Liam rolls to his side, the one facing Zayn’s bed, blinking for a few moments while watching the way the moon fought through dark clouds to run cool light over Zayn’s face.  The scruff was already coming back in, Zayn’s eyes narrowed as he glares at Liam like he wants Liam to shut the fuck up and Liam chews at his bottom lip, fingers curling into the sheets until Zayn bats his eyes fully open, frowning at Liam.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Liam says quietly, trying to shake his head but he looks a little ridiculous with his head pressed so far into one of the pillows.

“Then shut it.”

“Can’t sleep,” Liam whispers even though he doesn’t need to.  His lips slide downward and he’s doing everything not to look like a sad puppy but he’s too frustrated not to.

“Obviously,” Zayn sighs, fluffing his own pillow before dropping his head back down.

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” Liam lies because he sort of did.  It was selfish, but he wanted just a few more minutes to look at those eyes, those untouched lips, the small crinkles in Zayn’s skin when he smiles or pouts or makes any expression.

Zayn groans, dragging a hand down his face.  “I know.”

“Then why are you mad?”

“Because now I’m awake,” Zayn snaps, his voice decidedly low.  “And I’m wondering why you’re not asleep.  It fucks with my head, okay?”

“I did that?” Liam asks, pulling back a grin with far more restraint than he wants to.

Zayn smirks, eyes rolling.  He scratches at the incoming scruff, letting his eyes run over the soft sheets beneath him.

“Maybe.”

“Maybe?”

“Fuck, yes, _you_ did that Liam,” Zayn finally concedes with the smallest of grins.  There’s a touch of blush against his cheeks and Liam can barely see it in the dark room.  “You really need to get out of my life like you were before.”

“I could arrange that,” Liam says with a shrug.  He’s not sure if he means it but it feels oddly appropriate.

“Don’t you dare,” Zayn says quickly, a small flicker of panic setting into his eyes.

Liam snorts, buries half of his face into his pillow because he’s blushing now.

“I mean, I’ll kick you out when I’m ready,” Zayn adds instantly, his jaw flexing and he looks tense.  “Besides, you’ll probably be a complete ass when we get back to school anyway.”

“I won’t,” Liam says and he means it.  It feels like a promise on his lips and, the way Zayn’s face softens, makes him feel like Zayn believes him.

“Feels like when we were kids,” Zayn says, his tone lofty and light.  He pulls his eyes away from Liam’s face, running them down Liam’s slowly rising and falling chest.  “When Andy would have those sleepovers.”

“And you were afraid of the dark,” Liam notes.

Zayn flips him off but there’s a smirk on his pink lips.

“Everyone else would fall asleep and I felt so odd because none of you were like me.  All of you were already friends and _looked_ alike, _talked_ alike.  Fuck, I felt so out of place,” Zayn whispers, his eyes still too far from Liam’s gaze for Liam to read.

“And your parents didn’t have a sleeping bag for you so I brought an extra one along,” Liam adds, something resembling a smile pushing his cheeks higher.

“Just so I wouldn’t feel _different_.”

“And I’d take out my flashlight so we could read comic books together and you were so fucking chuffed about me having that new _X-Men_ comic,” Liam laughs out, rolling to his back.  He doesn’t want to look at Zayn, see the corners of his mouth curve into a smile.  He thinks he has it memorized now.

“Fuck off.  I liked Gambit,” Zayn says lowly, fingers running over the sheets.

“You were different,” Liam says with a small sigh, head tipping back.  “But I liked you just the way you were.”

“Bruno Mars?  You’re getting overly cheesy now Liam,” Zayn tells him and Liam can hear the smirk in his voice.

“You’re so daft.”

“You made me feel normal back then,” Zayn says with a wavering somberness to his voice.  “And now you make me feel so… out of place.”

Liam nods, rubbing at his cheek.  Zayn makes him feel the same way in a less hurtful way.  Zayn makes him feel like he’s done well enough mucking up years of misunderstandings just by being who he thought he should be.  He hates that more than he hates the way he can’t stay angry with Zayn anymore.

“That kiss today,” Liam starts, swallowing because he can’t find the words like Zayn could.  He feels daft, inadequate for a moment.  “I don’t know.  It was different.  Maybe because we weren’t drunk or, I don’t know, _fucked_ in the head.”

“I liked it,” Zayn says, his voice clearer now and Liam has to turn his head some to see the honesty in Zayn’s expression.

“You did?”

Zayn shrugs, those white teeth pulling in his bottom lip.  “Probably more than I should have.  And it’s not just because you’re fit because, fuck, Liam your body is _incredible_.”

The heat burning his cheeks shifts down his neck, down the middle of his chest until Liam’s almost too hot beneath that thick duvet.

“I liked it because it was you, which makes no fucking sense because I don’t like you,” Zayn admits.

“I don’t like you either,” Liam says with less conviction.

“But I think I like you,” Zayn sighs out, tucking his chin until Liam can’t see those eyes again.  “And I think I’m fucking out of my mind right now for telling you because I don’t know what that means.”

“Maybe it’s not for us to sort out right now,” Liam offers, shrugging his shoulders when Zayn lifts his head once more.  He turns away from Zayn again, tucking a smile while folding his arms behind his head.  “Maybe we just let it all happen for once.  I tend to overthink a lot of things.”

Zayn doesn’t say anything and Liam wonders if maybe he’s fallen back asleep.  But then the floor creaks a little, his bed dips, and the duvet is being drawn back.  Liam doesn’t deny he loves the warmth that spreads over him when Zayn tucks his body next to Liam’s, snuggling close until Liam draws an arm around Zayn’s shoulders, letting Zayn drape an arm over Liam’s chest.

Zayn’s fingers trace over the yellow lettering of Liam’s Batman shirt, Liam shifting closer until he can turn just slightly to tangle his legs with Zayn’s.  He lets his free hand run over the curling ink of Zayn’s collarbone, down his chest, slightly to the side to try and find that spot where he knows Zayn has that playing card tattoo.  He feels Zayn’s skin shift beneath him, smiling when Zayn sighs happily while rubbing at Liam’s chest.  He slips his fingertips over a long stretch of skin, digging in when he meets Zayn’s hip and he swallows back a gasp when his fingers slide lower and there’s nothing there but more skin.

“If you can’t sleep,” Zayn says lowly with a flickering tone of seduction gripping his words, “I know something that’ll tire you out.”

Liam blinks at Zayn for a moment, taken aback but Zayn’s eyes are dark, tongue running slowly over his lips.  His fingers are pushing at Liam’s shirt, dragging it upward and Liam knows he’s thinking too hard.  He’s wasting seconds when Zayn’s inching closer, drawing a leg between Liam’s before adding the slightest bit of pressure to Liam’s groin.  And there’s a hand running down the side of his face, small fingernails grazing over his skin before Zayn’s giving him a look like he wants something.  He’s nibbling at his bottom lip like he’s waiting, asking for permission and everything goes dark in Liam’s mind.  He’s forgetting where he is, what he’s doing, what he _shouldn’t_ be doing.  It all sort of melds together into a kaleidoscope of bright colors before he’s sliding a hand behind Zayn’s head and dragging him that short distance separating them.

He’s somewhere caught between the lightning and the thunder when he’s kissing Zayn.  Everything seems to be bursts of colors behind his eyelids, hands shifting over smooth skin that moves like it wants to be touched, molded, held in a way it’s never been before.  Zayn’s lips move over his like they fit, like it’s where Liam should’ve always had his mouth.  Zayn holds his face and Liam lets him control the kiss, too focused on where to put his hands because there’s so much to touch now.  There’s nothing hiding this skin from Liam and, fuck, he never knew how much he wanted to learn every inch of it until Zayn was naked, in bed with him.

Zayn kicks at the duvet, pushing it to the foot of the bed while Liam grips Zayn’s hips, turning completely toward Zayn to get a better angle to kiss him with.  His hand slips over the nape of Zayn’s back, short hairs shifting beneath his fingertips while his other hand eases down over the curve of Zayn’s ass, a gentle slide trickling fingers between the cheeks before he’s gripping Zayn, dragging them chest to chest.

“Fuck,” Zayn groans against his lips, hands shifting down Liam’s arms, his chest, yanking at that shirt now and Liam’s giggling against his lips before pulling back.

“Want to kiss you,” Zayn whines, trying to pull Liam back while lifting his shirt at the same time.

“Shirt or kissing?  You have to pick one,” Liam tells him with a smirk, fingers splayed over the small of Zayn’s back while his other hand pulls at Zayn’s thigh until it’s trying to wrap around Liam’s hip.

“Fuck it.  Kiss me,” Zayn finally gives in, hands jerking away from Liam’s shirt and he’s swallowing Liam’s moan when their lips collide again.

Liam tickles fingers on the underside of Zayn’s thigh, his hand dragging up Zayn’s back until it fists into Zayn’s hair, a gentle tug pulling a growl from the back of Zayn’s throat.

Liam chokes on a groan, shivering when Zayn reaches between them, shoves his hand into Liam’s sweats and, fuck, he’s palming Liam through his briefs like a pro. Liam’s toes curl in his socks, pulling back for a breath of air and Zayn uses it to his advantage, lips securing on that long column of Liam’s neck, mouthing at his birthmark until Liam’s certain he’s going to bruise there.

Liam drags his lips over Zayn’s forehead, fingers pushing his hair back while Zayn carves hearts, gentle musical notes, fucking stars over his neck, down and around his collarbone.  He loses his focus, body stuttering along to the way Zayn plays a soft rhythm over him.  Fingers drag at his joggers before he can regret any of it, pulling at the waistband of his briefs and both are pushed down around his thighs before he’s reaching down to pool them around his knees, stopping there.

“I want you to fuck me,” Zayn whispers in his ear and Liam’s on another high.  He can’t remember when Zayn stopped kissing his neck, when his tongue wasn’t playing tic-tac-toe across his collarbone and chest.  He’s missing that piece in between their lips meeting and Zayn sucking on his tongue.

“You’re sure?”

Zayn snickers in his ear, nodding against the side of his face and Liam has a hand shifting down Zayn’s back, fingers sliding between his cheeks again.

“I need to hear you say it,” Liam whispers back, his index finger circling Zayn’s hole and Zayn’s gripping at his shoulder, trembling.

“Fuck me Liam,” Zayn heaves out, grinding his hips against Liam’s and Liam can’t help but love the way Zayn’s cock feels against the lower portion of his stomach.

“ _Again_ ,” Liam requests, his lips dragging over Zayn’s cheek, capturing Zayn’s mouth before Zayn can protest.  “Say it again, Zayn.”

“Babe,” Zayn says, his voice cracked and Liam grins when he spots the way Zayn’s fighting it.  “ _Fuck me_.”

“Yeah?”

“Fucking do it, Liam,” Zayn demands, his voice lifting a little higher and Liam’s pressing two fingers to Zayn’s lips, ignoring the way Zayn’s tongue instinctively flicks out to lick the digits until they’re wet with his salvia.

“I want you,” Liam admits, pulling his fingers away, replacing them with his lips.  He feels the shift along his body, the way Zayn bites down on Liam’s lip when Liam pets at Zayn’s hole with a slick finger.  He pulls back a little, rubbing his lips gently over Zayn’s like a ghost brushing the skin.

“I want you all night,” Liam adds, his voice husky and deep.  “If I can have you.”

Zayn keens, back arching and Liam grins, sliding his tongue over Zayn’s Adam apple before pushing at the tight ring.

“Can I have you?” Liam asks, his finger playing against Zayn’s senses like the rhythm of a slow love song.

“Yes,” Zayn whimpers, fingernails digging a little too roughly into Liam’s shoulder but he bites out a hiss, nipping gently against Zayn’s neck as he eases a finger inside of Zayn.

“Relax,” Liam says, kissing at the small red bruises he leaves against that gold skin.  He fights against the resistance, lets Zayn adjust and he can’t help the grin pushing at his lips when he eases in just a little too easily – Zayn’s done this before.

“Fuck,” Zayn hisses, head tipping back and Liam’s finding new patches of his neck to explore with his lips.

Liam looks up through his lashes, watches Zayn’s eyes shift shut, teeth biting at that lower lip like it’ll lessen the sting.  He wills himself to move a little slower, rubbing slowly inside of Zayn before gently pulling back, thrusting in with just enough force that Zayn hiccups out a soft groan.

Zayn’s cock brushes over Liam’s stomach, slips under the hem of his shirt and Liam gasps at the hardness, the way his cock is a feverish heat with a sticky slickness dragging over Liam’s navel.  The shadows hide Zayn’s thoughts, the way his face scrunches a little when Liam adds a second finger but he can feel every bit of Zayn when he kisses at Zayn’s chest, feels that rapid pulse of his heart against the edges of his lips.

Liam grins against Zayn’s nipple, tongue licking out at the soft nub when Zayn carefully fucks himself down onto Liam’s fingers.  Liam thrusts in as Zayn pushes down, eyes sliding shut when he hits that nub that has Zayn trembling.  He rubs his middle finger along it, pushing in as far in as he can until Zayn’s a mess of mumbled noises and soft words that he doesn’t understand.

“Are you speaking Urdu?” Liam asks curiously, pushing up to kiss at the corner of Zayn’s mouth.

“Just fuck me,” Zayn hisses, shivering when Liam strikes that spot deep inside of him again.  Another trail of words, softer this time, break through his lips with his accent thick.

“Tell me what you’re saying,” Liam requests, sucking at Zayn’s bottom lip and his own cock throbs when he catches Zayn whispering again.  “Please, babe.”

“Liam,” Zayn mewls, curling an arm around Liam’s neck, pushing his lips down on Liam’s when Liam adds a third finger.  “Just, fuck, I _need_ you.”

“Need me to what?” Liam asks against Zayn’s lips, the corners of his mouth rising before he’s smiling.

Zayn’s eyes blink open, his nose wrinkling and his back arches high for Liam.  “Stop fucking talking before I get in my own bed and finish this.”

Zayn grinds his cock roughly against Liam’s bare hip to emphasis his words and Liam’s nodding, pushing his need to tease Zayn just a little longer out of his mind.

“Do you have,” Liam chokes on his words, waving a hand around dramatically until Zayn catches on, shaking his head.

Liam blinks at him for a second, chewing at his lip as he thinks and then he’s pushing Zayn onto his back for a moment, crawling over Zayn to reach into his bag and it’s a bit awkward with the lights off and his eyes are trying to watch Zayn still because, honestly, he should be a little more prepared.  Not that he thought, you know, he’d be having sex with anyone, let alone Zayn Malik while at the cabin.  But he was smart enough to pack that baby oil gel he uses sometimes to wank with and, yeah, that’s still a bit embarrassing when he makes a wheezing noise of excitement when he finds it.

“Condom?” Zayn asks, leaning back when Liam returns to his former position on the bed.

Liam deflates, his brow knitting together before shaking his head.  “I didn’t think that, well, you know – “

Zayn smirks, nodding like he knows where Liam’s going with all of this.  He reaches out, nicking the small bottle of baby oil from Liam’s fingers before popping the top.  The sweet scent floods the room, mingling with the scent of their musk and sweat.

“Cocoa butter?” Zayn asks, arching an eyebrow and Liam flushes red immediately.

“It’s, um, I didn’t mean to buy it but then it felt good the one time I – “

Zayn’s laughing, a hand thrown over his mouth to muffle the sound but his nose is scrunching, cheeks raising high, eyes crinkling at the corner and Liam feels the blush spread from his cheeks to every inch of his skin.  He pouts for a moment before thudding a fist against Zayn’s shoulder, biting back his own snicker.

Zayn lets the laugh subside a little, head shaking before he leans forward, pressing a gentle kiss to Liam’s lips and it feels so soft, so comforting that Liam has to place a hand behind Zayn’s neck to settle the way his emotions shatter like fragile glass.

“I don’t sleep around, Liam,” Zayn admits, shifting a little closer.  “In fact, I’ve only had sex with three other lads.”

Liam nods, gentling another kiss to Zayn’s lips.  “I’m not very, I mean, I don’t shag that much either.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Liam confirms with a small smile, his heart colliding with his ribcage when he catches the way that darkness shifts out of Zayn’s eyes for a moment, glittered happiness replacing it.

“I trust you,” Zayn says lowly, biting at his bottom lip and his eyes are saying more than his lips ever will.

“You trust me,” Liam says back, testing the way the words feel against his tongue – they’re enrapturing.

Zayn nods, stuttering his lips against Liam’s again and he knows Zayn has made the decision he’s too scared to.  And it feels amazing.

Zayn pulls back a little, slicking his fingers before reaching back, gasping when he slides them inside of himself.  Liam bites at his lip, peeks over Zayn’s shoulder to watch and he regrets it immediately because the way Zayn fingers himself, a determined set to his brow, teeth pulling at his lip while his fingers move like this is what they were made for has his cock pulsing and he’s leaving a wet spot along the sheets.  He breathes in Zayn’s used air, leaning in to settle his lips against Zayn’s, kissing gentle lullabies against those soft, wet lips.

Liam grips Zayn’s shoulder, his other hand running soothingly over Zayn’s back as Zayn stretches himself a few seconds more, those fingers sliding out before reaching forward to slick Liam’s cock.  Liam swallows Zayn’s moans like smoke from his lungs, eyes closed with his heart sliding into his stomach before crawling its way back up.

“How do you want to do it?” Liam asks, trying to corral his senses because if Zayn keeps stroking him, his thumb rubbing over the slit, that little flick of his wrist right at the head, he’s going to come before he can slide into Zayn.

“Here, just let me,” Zayn starts, sweeping in for another kiss that lasts longer than it should.  His fingers unwrap themselves from Liam’s cock and Liam feels colorblind, dazed and high with the way Zayn’s mouth feels slotted against his.

Zayn pulls back, a little breathless and his chest is heaving before he’s turning away from Liam, lying on his side with his back arched, his body inviting.

Liam’s feet tangle in the sheets, fingers pulling Zayn’s cheeks apart while his other hand grips his cock.  He scoots forward, his sweat slicking the sheets while he lines himself up.  Zayn’s glancing over his shoulder, eyes impossibly dark again like he _wants_ it.  Like it’s all he’s been thinking about for days and Liam feels something grip him, animalistic and it’s a craving he hasn’t had before.  It strips away that need to tease, the head pressing against Zayn’s hole and he grins at the way Zayn’s body naturally pulses for him.  That hole is clenching and releasing, anticipation high on adrenaline before Liam’s dripping kisses over Zayn’s bare shoulder, pulling his shirt up until its wrinkled just below his chest.  His sweats, briefs are still tangled around his knees and he doesn’t care.  None of it matters when he pushes forward and, _fuck_ , when he breaks through the ring everything he was thinking turns into a portrait of smudged thoughts and words.

Zayn hisses, fingers gripping at the sheets, the pillow in front of him and Liam holds his position, the head caught in that tight heat.  He drags kisses across the back of Zayn’s neck, fingers impulsively reaching forward to hold Zayn’s hip, his thumb sweeping over the jutting bone.  Zayn’s panting, nodding like he’s trying to tell Liam something without speaking and Liam catches it.  He eases forward a little more, sinking deeper at a slow rhythm.  He breathes quiet breaths along Zayn’s neck, smiling against Zayn’s skin when Zayn reaches back, guides Liam further with a hand on Liam’s hip.

“Don’t stop,” Zayn whimpers, his hole naturally tightening as Liam tries to move forward until he’s slowly relaxing, taking Liam with deep breaths.  “Not yet.”

Liam nods against Zayn’s neck, sinking teeth into that space between Zayn’s shoulder and neck.  He smiles at that soft noise at the back of Zayn’s throat, the way Zayn tips his head back onto Liam’s shoulder.

“Won’t hurt you,” Liam whispers, sliding his tongue over the teeth marks he leaves behind.

“I know,” Zayn says with a shiver, pulling roughly at the sheets because Liam’s thicker in the middle and it’s like a car wreck the way their bodies fit together, Zayn groaning, Liam panting until Liam’s bottoming out.

Zayn turns his head a little and Liam’s there, lips kissing Zayn’s cheeks before their lips meet for an off-center kiss.  He winces when Zayn’s nails dig into his side, traces his hand forward to rub soothing touches over Zayn’s stomach, feeling the way those muscles coil and tighten.

“Fuck me, Liam,” Zayn breathes out, eyes clenched shut while pushing back against Liam.  “Come on, babe.”

Liam nods with a smirk, pulling back to watch his cock drag slowly out until just the tip rests inside of Zayn.  He pushes back in, slow like honey until he can’t push any further.  There’s a drag to Zayn’s next breath, Liam moving gently until he finds a rhythm they can connect on.

It’s a tangled dance from there.  It feels so natural, the way his cock feels inside of Zayn.  Everything is brand new and he’s quite certain sex has never felt this… _fantastic_.  The way Zayn moves with him, pushing back to meet every thrust Liam gives him.  The pace quickens, sweat sliding down the small of Liam’s back as he grips Zayn’s hip and pounds into him for a few beats.  Zayn throws his head back with a grin and they’re breathing is ragged but the syncopation is electric.

“So tight,” Liam hisses, Zayn contracting around him like he’s near the edge but he’s not.  He’s leaking on the sheets and Liam can see it, peers over Zayn’s shoulder to see the glistening tip, the way Zayn’s hard against his belly but unwilling to do anything about it.

“Fuck me.”

“I am,” Liam gasps back, hips moving a little more rapidly.

“ _Oh._ ”

Liam smirks, his cock pushing deep and he’s striking that fire inside of Zayn.  His prick draws back and Zayn whimpers, lips pleading with words he can’t form.  Liam drenches Zayn’s neck with kisses, small marks to remind Zayn that this happened.  That Liam made him feel this way.

Zayn’s lip is caught between his teeth, his neck exposed, sweat slicking his forehead.  His fingers twirl into the sheets, legs shifting wider until Liam’s reaching between them, pulling at a thigh.  Zayn complies easily, lifting his leg and, yeah, that’s the right angle.  It makes it easier for Liam to drive deeper on every thrust and Zayn’s trying hard not to moan, to swallow back every whimper as Liam pounds against his prostate.

He feels Zayn pull away some, his body moving like he’s trying to get away from Liam and concern rules Liam’s expression until he spots Zayn reaching out for the small bottle of liquid that’s shifted to the edge of the bed.  Liam grins against the back of Zayn’s neck, watches Zayn clumsily pop the top again – fingers nearly dropping it when Liam pounds deep in him – and Zayn’s trying to find his coordination, swallowing his gasps.  Zayn spills more of the liquid onto the sheets than he gets on his fingers and Liam knows he’ll have to explain all of this to Louis when they go to do laundry.  He smiles at that because, fuck, he knows the expression on Louis’ face will be priceless.

The sounds of skin meeting skin pings against the walls, into the shadowy corners.  Liam watches Zayn grip himself, a shiver tracing down Zayn’s spine when he gets a tight grip on his cock.  There’s a smile spreading over Liam’s lips, Zayn’s fingers slicking his cock until it’s shiny and wet with the sticky gel and precome.  He lets Zayn get a few more strokes, his thumb pulling back the foreskin and swiping over the slit before his own hand slides across Zayn’s belly, fingers tracing that thin trail of hair leading to that dark patch surrounding Zayn’s cock.  He spreads his fingers over Zayn’s, helping him stroke it before he’s pulling Zayn’s hand away, tangling their fingers together.

Zayn lets out a frustrated groan, his head snapping in Liam’s direction and Liam offers him a gentle smile.

“Do you think you can, you know,” Liam makes a motion with his other hand that Zayn barely sees, “come without touching yourself?”

“No,” Zayn says flatly.

“Come on, just _try_ ,” Liam says encouragingly, snapping his hips until Zayn’s trembling again.

Zayn pushes out a breath, trying to pull his hand from Liam’s but Liam’s stronger, a little more resilient.

“That’s mental, Liam,” Zayn tells him, his voice rough and annoyed.

Liam frowns, tilting his head down and his thrusts slowing.  He bites at his lip, watching the way his cock pulls back, nearly slides out this time before he’s sinking back in.

“I’m sorry.”

Liam glances up, blinks at Zayn who’s glancing over his shoulder at Liam.  There’s a genuineness in his eyes that Liam falls into.  He welcomes the way it cools his skin, strokes his heart until he can’t fight it.  He can’t hide from the way Zayn is so honest in a moment he doesn’t have to be.  And everything bleeds out from there – joy, ecstasy, rapture.

Liam presses a kiss to Zayn’s cheek, watches the way Zayn’s eyes flutter shut, those long lashes kissing his cheeks.  Zayn’s lips part, a quiet breath escaping but he’s holding onto a moan at the back of his throat.  He watches the way Zayn winces a little, fingers tightening around Liam’s as Liam’s thrust turn shallow deep inside of him.

“You feel amazing inside of me,” Zayn says beneath a few pants, his bottom lip shaking.  His brow furrows and they’re falling beneath the sounds of their own husky breaths.

Liam hums sweetly, dripping forceful kisses over Zayn’s neck, the tip of his shoulder, swiping back until he’s at the nape of Zayn’s neck.

“Fuck,” Zayn hisses, growling softly when Liam pushes against his prostate again.  “Don’t stop.”

“Shh,” Liam says lowly, his hips rolling and it’s been too long since he’s done this.  Since he’s lasted this long.  He’s certain he should be tipping over the edge; he’s done it enough times in the past.  But he’s not.  No, he’s pulling back just enough, that sweet friction along the head of his cock, until he’s certain he can satisfy Zayn the way his body is aching to.

“Keep quiet.”

“Oh fuck, they’re going to know anyway,” Zayn tells him, his voice hushed now.  He drags those nails along the sheets until Liam’s certain he’s going to rip them.  “Everyone’s going to know because, _fuck_ , babe I’m certain you’re ruining me for anyone else.”

Liam’s smile tips high, a soft chuckle breaking from his chest and he fits their bodies tightly together.  And he wishes so desperately he could kick out of those damn joggers, could shift them just a bit so he could, yeah, hit that spot once more.

He’s numb when he finally feels the release strike him.  They’re moving together, hands clasped, Zayn whispering his name lowly, and Liam thinks Zayn’s gone before he is.  Zayn’s clenching around him, sweat sliding down his temple and there’s a knot deep in Liam’s stomach before he can pull out.  No, he sinks deep inside of Zayn and he’s caught off guard by the way it all washes over him.

“Zayn,” he gasps out and it’s the last bit of control he’s able to manage.

Zayn nods, shoulders slumping and Liam bites into the back of Zayn’s neck to stop himself from crying out.  He bats his eyes open, tries to peek over Zayn’s shoulder and he slides a little deeper, coming while watching Zayn’s cock pulse against the sheets, hips dragging back and forth to streak Liam’s sheets white with his come.  Liam shudders at the sight, the way Zayn’s coming without touching himself, the way his chest is rising and falling far too fast like he can’t breathe but Zayn’s grinning.  He’s fucking _smiling_ like he’s amazed and satisfied all at once.  And Liam rides that high until he stops pulsing inside of Zayn, pulling Zayn close until the room stops spinning.

“I hate you,” Zayn gasps out after what feels like hours.

Liam snickers, dragging his fingers over Zayn’s chest, kissing at Zayn’s neck until he tastes salty sweat, sweet skin.

“Same here,” Liam whispers with a smile.

“We’re not sleeping in this bed,” Zayn insists and Liam tries not to break at the thought – Zayn doesn’t want to sleep alone.

“Yours?” Liam offers, resting his chin on Zayn’s shoulder.

Zayn nods with a petite grin, his head turning a little to look at Liam.  “You okay with that?”

“Completely,” Liam replies instantly, biting back his smile.  His heart drums against his chest.

“I fancy a cuddle afterwards,” Zayn sighs out, looking away from Liam.  “Don’t give me shit about it.”

Liam doesn’t.  He wants to tell Zayn he’d do it whenever Zayn wants, sex or not, but he holds onto those words because they sound like something a lover would say.  He’s not that to Zayn.  Maybe he’s a one off.  Maybe he’s just a friend.  But he knows what he’s not and he reminds himself that an hour later when Zayn’s cuddled into his arms, breathing against Liam’s chest with his arms wrapped firmly around Liam’s midsection.

He doesn’t know when he falls asleep but he’s certain it’s not until after he’s memorized each of Zayn’s tattoos, the way he feels in Liam’s arms, the way he smells after sex, the unfolding breaths Zayn releases while he sleeps.

He knows it’s dangerous, but he stays awake until he knows Zayn won’t pull away from him before Liam’s ready to let him go.

**

He wishes he knew how to control that automatic alarm clock inside of his body.  You know, the one that wakes you up way too early on the days you can afford to sleep in and the one that keeps you buried beneath your sheets when you should really be up, in the shower, getting a start on your day?  He groans lowly, reaching blindly for his phone, swiping his thumb over the keypad and, fucking Christ, it’s a little after ten but it feels like the dead of dawn with the way the sun is slowly peeking through the window, dropping flickering flames of light over his eyes, over the bed.

His head has a dull throb to it – one too many beers the night before – and there’s a cramp in his thigh, his left arm is tingling from the loss of blood flow, and there’s a heaviness pressing down on his chest.  He blinks his eyes, rubbing at them for a second and his breath hitches for a moment when the bed shifts.  _Oh_.  That’s Zayn pressing to his chest, an arm draped over his belly with that mused dark hair resting on Liam’s slow rising and falling chest.  He shifts his legs from between Zayn’s and, gross, he feels filthy from the sweat sticking to his skin – thankfully he had to managed to get a warm washcloth to wipe away the come from their fingers, Zayn’s ass before they slid into Zayn’s clean bed.

Liam cocks his head to the side, admires that peaceful expression embedded into Zayn’s face, chapped lips slightly parted with those long lashes fluttering against his cheeks.  He looks almost serene, something Liam never thought he’d associate with Zayn and Liam curls to him for a moment, pressing a gentle kiss to Zayn’s forehead, his nose before Zayn’s blindly swatting him away.

“Fuck off,” Zayn grumbles, trying to crawl into Liam’s skin with a frown.  “Too fucking early.  Who gets up this fucking early?”

“Do you always swear this often in the morning?” Liam asks with a snort.

Zayn rewards him with a middle finger before rolling off of Liam, hiding his face beneath a pillow.

Liam decides its best not to argue with Zayn this early because fully-awake Zayn is an utter asshole and he doesn’t want to imagine what sleepy Zayn is like.  Plus his head still has that throb on the left side and he needs a shower, a long one, and some tea.

He cautiously crawls over Zayn, careful not to jostle Zayn’s lean frame too much before he’s hopping out of the bed, willing his legs to work even though he’s sore and he hasn’t had a good stretch in hours.  He rubs his hand on the nape of his neck, a quick glance over his shoulder assuring him Zayn’s fallen back to sleep before he grabs a towel and a clean pair of boxers from his bag.  He swipes up one of Zayn’s t-shirts – he doesn’t know why he’s rather fond of the white shirt with the _‘Thank You Fuck You’_ written across it but he thinks it fits Zayn and, maybe, he likes the thought of that.  He discreetly brings it to his nose, even though there’s no one around to see him, and when he breathes it in, he inhales the faded tinge of peaches and vanilla.  He grins, tucking the shirt under his arm before moving toward the bathroom.

He groans lowly when he remembers he let Louis borrow his body wash the day before because Louis ran out – because, of course, Louis didn’t actually make a list like Liam before he left town to make sure he had everything properly packed – dropping his things on the sink before spinning on his heels and tiptoeing towards the master bedroom.  He prays Louis is still asleep because he’s more than confident that if sleepy Zayn was a pain in the ass, exhausted and hung-over Louis was pretty much the second coming of Satan.  He gives the door a faint knock before pushing at it, shouldering it open a little when it gives immediately.

Liam’s certain standing wide-eyed, his mouth gaped, his throat struggling to make a noise while gripping the doorway to the master bedroom looked nothing like going to grab some silly bottle of body wash.  He knew he was probably pale, cheeks flushed, fucking trembling but he couldn’t move.  He didn’t mean to – fuck, he _really_ needed to – but he couldn’t and he figures this is probably what hell will look like.

Fingers were tangled in those soft curls, a light tug drawing a muffled moan from cherry-colored lips.  That fluffy white robe from the en-suite was spread out beneath Louis and Louis’ bare legs were wide, crooked at the knee with shaking thighs and a heaving chest.  Louis’ head was tipped back, eyes shut and Harry’s hands, the ones that were impossibly large with long, delicate fingers, were moving between Louis’ legs, one slipping lower until, _oh_ , Louis let out a raspy gasp then.  Harry’s jaw looked stretched, almost aching but he bobbed up and down slowly, swallowing until Louis shuddered out something frighteningly choked from his throat.  Harry’s cheeks were hollowing, lips curling into a smile when Louis shifted just a little and Liam’s fingers pinched the doorway with a dull ache.

“Lou,” Liam gasps, doesn’t mean to but when Harry pulls back with a wet pop, he can’t help himself.

Harry’s eyes fly open, Louis’ soft _“oh fuck”_ a wicked mixture of ecstasy and horror.  Harry stumbles back, Liam’s fingers going as white as his face as he grips the doorway and he’s trying to suppress that horrified look on his face.  Louis’ turning a deep red, Harry’s dragging the back of his hand over his mouth and turning pink while Liam lets something strangled escape his throat.

“ _Lou_.”

“Get out.”

“Which one of us?” Harry asks, more than a little bemused by it all and Liam’s shooting him an incredulous look as Harry struggles to pull up his pajama bottoms.

Louis shoots Harry a glare, eyes narrowed and his fingers are digging into the white linen sheets for a moment before he realizes he’s still sort of naked in front of his best mate and Harry, quickly pulling his bathrobe closed with a furrowed brow.

“Have you not ever heard of a knock before, Liam?” Louis hisses, his feet kicking as he struggles to sit upright and his foot catches Harry in the side, Harry scurrying back with a groan.

“I _did_ ,” Liam snaps back, anger starting to set in.  “But what the fuck are you doing?”

“Do you need a pamphlet or shall we finally have that talk about the birds and the bees?” Louis offers, looking not the least bit fazed by the way Liam glares at him.

“I should go,” Harry says meekly, eyes searching between Louis and Liam but neither of them are giving him a look.  His shoulders slump forward, bare feet dragging against the carpet.

“Probably so,” Louis finally says, waving him off and Liam offers Harry a sympathetic look that he shrugs at.

“Lou – “

“Save it Liam,” Louis grumbles, pulling a pillow over the portion of his robe that was still tenting upward.  “It’s nothing.  A one off.”

Liam winces for Harry, those curls falling over his eyes as he drags his feet along the ground, moving toward the door.  He wants to reach out to Harry, search those green eyes, maybe say something comforting but what for?  It won’t feel better tomorrow, or in a week. Eleanor knows that worn out fairy tale oh too well and, really, Liam can’t play the brave knight to all of Louis’ broken suitors.

He watches Harry swipe his fingers through those thick curls, not even bothering to sweep it through the front section like he always does.  There’s something masquerading as a scowl on his face but Liam wonders what’s buried underneath that.  He wonders if Harry cries over assholes like Louis.  Does he get over it all so easily?  He hopes so.  He hopes one day Harry will teach him how do it.

When Harry slams the door shut, Liam spins on his heels, eyeing Louis as he shrugs, scooting back on the bed until he’s resting up against the headboard.  He twiddles his thumbs, pursed lips and he’s indignant.  He’s self-righteous.  He’s nothing like the best mate Liam knew for far too many years.

“You’re a _dick_ ,” Liam barks at him, shaking his head when Louis offers him a blank expression.

“He’s a kid.”

“Oh, is that right?” Liam hisses, folding his arms over his chest.  “And suddenly that kid means nothing?”

“Liam, don’t be such a daft romantic,” Louis sighs out.  “People are never what you expect them to be.  I suppose he needs to learn that, yeah?”

“And El?” Liam wonders, waving his hands around.

“She knows,” Louis says, his voice dropping some like he regrets hurting her.  Liam wonders if he really does.

Liam gazes out the window, the sky outside shifting into a hazy silver color.  He can feel the cool breeze from Louis’ room though the window is shut and everything feels warm and stiff in the room.  It passes over him, disappointment exceeding expectation and he blinks at Louis for a long moment – _This is my winter song to you. The storm is coming soon; it rolls in from the sea._   His fingers curl into shaky fists and Louis is picking at his nails, crossing his feet at his ankles, playing with the stupid tie to his robe like Liam’s annoying him.

“Do you ever regret it?” Liam asks, his voice curled with disdain but it’s low and nearly soundless against the way the wind tousles leaves into the air.

“Regret what?”

“Any of it,” Liam says, his tone empty and hollow.

Louis’ eyes lower, fingers shifting over the fluffy material of his robe for minutes.  There’s something stinging in the way he can’t lift those ocean blue eyes, the way he shifts uncomfortably and drawn into himself – _Is love alive?_

“All of the time,” Louis admits dejectedly, dragging his fingers over the sheets.

Liam nods, doesn’t press him any further.  He can’t muster the words to comfort Louis because he knows Louis wouldn’t accept them.  Louis is incredibly adapt at concealing his emotions, his feelings.  He’s done well with building an armor and denying the world any moment of vulnerability.  Liam’s seen it a few times and he knows very well that when Louis feels exposed, he doesn’t want anyone to say anything.  He doesn’t want sympathy and he sure as hell doesn’t want comfort.  He merely wants quiet peace and Liam backs towards the door to give him just that.

Liam marches down the steps just as Niall’s door swings open, Niall dragging his feet as he stumbles into the living area with his duvet resting over his head and blanketing downward to cover the rest of his body.  It’s long enough that it drags a little behind Niall and he looks like a six year old awaken from an awful dream or too early in the morning to want anything other than a bowl of cereal.  Liam refuses to let a smile cross his lips over the image because, honestly, he’s still sort of pissed with Louis and a bit concerned about Harry.

“Who woke up Ursula the Sea Witch?” Niall asks, blinking sleepy blue eyes at Liam as he crosses in front of the couch, falling back onto it as Liam moves toward the kitchen.

“Who?”

Niall stares at him in disbelief for a beat and Liam arches an eyebrow, completely confused.

“You know, _the Little Mermaid_?” Niall offers but Liam gives him a blank expression that has Niall groaning in frustration.  “Fuck off.  You know, for someone obsessed with _Toy Story_ and to be such a puppy, which you really are Li, how have you never seen _that_ Disney film?”

Liam shakes his head at him, a grin finally breaking past his lips.  Niall has that effect on him.

Niall waves him off, slinking further down on the couch.  “Nevermind.  What’s with all the yelling and dramatics?  Did someone not vote Louis prom queen again?”

Liam sighs loudly, dragging his hand over his hair.  He lets it settle on the nape of his neck, staring at the ground for a long moment.

“I walked in on Harry and Lou.”

“Having a chat?  Oh God, was Louis trying to murder him?” Niall asks, straightening quickly.  “I hope not.  I really liked Harry.”

Liam groans, tilting his head back.  “I walked in on Harry giving Lou a _blowjob_ , Nialler.”

Niall nods slowly and Liam’s balking because Niall doesn’t seem bothered by any of it.  He’s just… smiling weakly.

“Finally!” Niall laughs out, tipping back until he’s lying back on the couch, pale legs kicking in the air.  “The two were going at it pretty heavy by those old trees last night when everyone else called it quits.  I mean, completely snogging in the fucking bushes.  Pretty creepy.”

Liam tries not to look completely shocked and, truthfully, he knows he shouldn’t.  He should’ve seen it coming because Louis doesn’t let up once he wants something.  He wanted to believe Harry was a bit more reasonable but, then again, he doesn’t know Harry all that well.

Niall peeks his head over the back of the couch, frowning.  “Do you think Harry’s still going to cook breakfast?”

Liam rolls his eyes on cue, edging around the couch while moving toward the front door.  He slips into his trainers, pulling on his letterman jacket that he had unpacked for the ride back to town before pulling at the door.

“I mean, I would but I’m only good at making toast,” Niall adds, a solemnness to his tone that Liam chooses to ignore.  He’s not quite sure why he bothers with Niall and Louis some days.

**

The air outside is a stiffening cold.  The sky has darkened a little more, an almost charcoal color now that pulls at Liam’s skin.  The breeze is light, swirling and whirling from various directions but Liam doesn’t mind it.  He’s used to it, almost loves the way November feels against his the back of his neck, over his fingertips until they’re almost numb with the brittleness.

The leaves crunch under his trainers, brown eyes searching the near dead surroundings.  The girls are still huddled in their cabin and he doesn’t spot Greg or Andy kicking the football around but he can hear soft voices not too far away and he follows them down one of the smaller hills behind the cabin until he spots Zayn and Harry.

Harry’s sitting on a large rock, knees pulled close to his chest with his head hanging low.  His curls are peeking out of a wool beanie, bomber jacket nearly swallowing his upper half with ripped jeans and brown boots scraping along the surface of the rock.  Liam can barely make out his words but he doesn’t know if he’d bother trying when his eyes settle on Zayn.

His hair is a wreck, something Liam smiles at with his teeth biting lightly on his lip.  He’s taking a long drag from his cigarette, flicking away the ashes with a shadowy scruff lining those defined cheeks.  He knows that denim jacket is doing little to conceal Zayn from the cold but Zayn breathes out that smoke like he’s not even moved by the way the wind whips across them for a quiet moment.  He’s rubbing a comforting hand over Harry’s shoulder, eyes narrowed with thought before his lips curl around the end of his cigarette again.

“I don’t get it,” Harry sighs, tipping his head back to look up at Zayn.

Zayn offers him a small shrug.  “Lad’s a prick.  Always has been.”

Liam frowns at that, hugging himself when the wind slides down his back.

“I figured maybe it was all talk,” Harry says with a bitter laugh, wiping at his eyes before trying to press out a grin for Zayn.

Zayn shakes his head, a softened grin moving over his lips.  “Not everything is better than what the world makes it out to be Haz.”

Harry snorts, nodding and he’s lowering his head again.  “Liam seems nice.”

“He is,” Zayn tells him and Liam feels something resembling a grin easing over his own lips.  “But it’d never work out.”

Liam feels himself stiffen, his heart stopped, his mind buzzing like a low noise somewhere in the distance.  His brow lifts, his body shifting a little to the left because he doesn’t want Zayn to see him now.  And he feels oddly like a creeper, like some sort of clichéd high school film where the whole plot unfolds at just the wrong time.

Harry looks up again, curiosity settled into those large green eyes.

Zayn takes another pull from his cigarette, looking off into the distance, watching the way the waves on the nearby lake shift and ripple.

“I don’t think a relationship would be the proper thing to do.  Not with him,” Zayn explains, his voice low and uneven.  He exhales out the smoke, watches it cast through the air.  “I don’t know.  He’s nice, polite, fit as fuck.  But he’s not the Liam I grew up with.  I’m not the Zayn he knew.  And it wouldn’t work, at all.  He doesn’t understand me.”

Liam feels everything fall just that quickly.  It crashes, pulls at the anger he hasn’t touched, the disappointment he wasn’t expecting, the rush of something somber on the edge of his stomach a bit too overwhelming.  He bites down hard on his lip, tunes out any of the words Zayn speaks after that, ignores the way Harry looks genuine upset by it all because who the fuck was Harry Styles to feel sorry for Liam?  And who was Zayn Malik?  Oh, right, he was the _asshole_ that Liam didn’t know.  But those were Zayn’s words now, not his.

He backs away quietly, turning as quickly as he can before jogging back toward the cabin, ignoring Niall’s curious looks or the way Louis blinks up at him from the couch, a frown settling across his mouth.  Liam stomps up the stairs, kicks the door to his room open and falls into his bed – the one that still fucking smells like their musk, lingering scent of sex against the linen, and Liam prays he’s not lying in the spot where Zayn’s come has dried against the sheets – and he stares at the ceiling for too long.  He glares at it, eyes narrowing until he thinks he can dream about being somewhere else, like back home.  Somewhere where Zayn doesn’t have the ability to make him feels so confused, desperate, broken with just a few words.

Because, right now, he feels all of those things and other emotions he’s not willing to name without regretting every second of the weekend.

**

Most of their things have been packed away into the trunk of Liam’s father’s SUV again, a few bags still sitting at the door, but they’re not in a rush.  At least, Louis doesn’t seem to be in one, Niall either.  Harry’s on edge, startled by almost every unfamiliar noise while Zayn spends most of his time outside, underneath a tree with his notebook and a few cigarettes, only looking up occasionally when the sky shifts into another sullen color until it spirals bright blue again.  And Liam’s pacing the living area, trying to take a kip on his bed – only after he’s stripped away the sheets and duvet because, fuck, he can’t take the smell of Zayn against that fabric anymore – before he’s mulling around on the couch while Louis and Niall muck about like nothing’s happened this morning.

Louis insists they clean the cabin because, even though Liam’s certain Louis’ parents will send someone out to professionally clean the place after they leave, Louis wants to know he did something right by his parents, whether they recognize it or not.  So Liam busies himself with sweeping the kitchen and doing the laundry – not that he’s against making Louis clean those fucking soiled sheets because he’s still pretty pissed with Louis for all of this – while Niall does the dishes, Zayn wipes down the counters, Louis tidies up the rooms, and Liam’s not at all surprised when Harry comes out of one of the bathrooms with a bin full of empty beer bottles.  He doesn’t know how he’s survived an entire weekend with these bunch of slobs, not that Zayn was horrible at all because he kept things neat and organized like Liam did and, fuck, he hates that he’s even thinking about Zayn but he just can’t stop.

Niall’s got on a pair of those silly rubber gloves, tapping a foot merrily while humming something.  Harry’s pushing the curls off his forehead, avoiding looking at Louis who’s collecting all of the rubbish in plastic bags, pulling a few beer cans from underneath the couch and a shot glass from behind the television.  Zayn’s crossing through the kitchen, arching an eyebrow at Niall as Niall grins just a little too brightly before nudging his hip against Zayn’s.

“You’re mad, you know that?” Zayn says, a broken laugh passing his lips as Niall shrugs.

“And quite chuffed about it,” Niall sings out, placing a few clean glasses in the dish rack.

Zayn rolls his eyes, easing around Niall to cap a few bottles of alcohol as Liam sweeps beneath the table, averting his eyes when Zayn offers him a soft smile.  A frown tips over Zayn’s lips and Liam cowers at the way he can spot it from the corner of his eye, doing his best to turn his back to Zayn but nothing inside of him wants to.

Liam watches Niall with a lifting eyebrow, the way the younger boy tiptoes behind Zayn with a creaking grin on his lips, wide blue eyes filled with the kind of mischief he expects from Louis, or Niall when he’s completely bladdered.  And Niall’s lifting his arms high above Zayn’s head, Zayn’s back to him, before he squeezes two sponges high above Zayn, soapy water cascading down on Zayn before he’s yelping, jumping forward and knocking into a few of the chairs.

Niall falls to the ground, laughing manically while Liam pushes his fist against his mouth, bites at a laugh to stifle it but he fails miserably.  Harry’s peeking around the corner, tying his curls back with a headband while Louis rounds another corner, a bag full of red plastic cups and leftover food.

Zayn’s fuming, cheeks red with water dripping down his face, over those long lashes.  His hair is sticking to his head, his Nirvana shirt sticking to him and he’s panting like he’s trying to make the anger subside but it’s a fleeting move.  He spins to look at Niall who’s a bright scarlet hue, head tipped back with thudding laughter, feet kicking with his hands holding his continuously constricting stomach.

“You fucking twat,” Zayn hisses and it only draws up another wild cackle from Niall’s shivering body.

“Your face!  Fuck, your _hair_ Malik,” Niall gasps out, those echoing laughs still breaking through his pink lips.

Liam titters with another laugh, ducking his head when Zayn’s snaps in his direction.  He offers a small shrug but he can’t corral his laughter when Zayn’s hair clings to his forehead, drips over his brow and dark gold eyes.  His jaw is tense, flexing when Liam’s cheeks go a soft pink and Liam holds his hands up defensively, head shaking but the laughter bubbles past his lips.

“Liam,” Zayn hisses, eyes narrowing but there’s a twitch at the corner of his lips.  There’s a shifting grin following that and it eases Liam for a second.

Liam’s not prepared when Zayn rushes him, a cup of soapy water in his hand and there’s nothing but the loud slap of the water hitting the floor, the flush of suds striking his face, dribbling down his chin and neck, his own hair flattening and they’re wrestling for a second with laughter, sliding across that hardwood until Niall has to push them back before they topple over and land on him.

“I will decapitate any of you lot that ruins my hair.  Do you hear me?  I will cut off your dick and feed it to the fucking squirrels and they will feast on it all winter long,” Louis warns, an impatient foot tapping on the floor with his arms folded as Zayn and Liam fight to pull the other into a headlock, Niall rolling into another fit of giggles on the floor.  There’s a ghost of a smile settling over Louis’ lips, his head shaking before he adds, “Fucking idiots.”

Liam’s not too far gone that he doesn’t hear Louis’ yelp, the sound of water splashing again and he shoves Zayn off for a second, eyes wide with his mouth hanging open as he watches water drip from Louis’ head, down over his shirt and rolled up chinos.  His mouth quirks into a small grin when Harry stands behind him proudly, holding an empty bucket over Louis’ head.  He wants to cheer Harry on, throw a fist in the air in celebration but he settles for a small nod, Harry grinning brightly until Louis spins on his heels and then it’s all horror, Zayn laughing behind Liam before Louis’ chasing Harry through the kitchen.

Niall kicks a leg out, tripping Harry and it’s a tumble of limbs, Harry’s head cracking into a chair before he and Louis are rolling on the floor, kicking and laughing with Louis tugging at Harry’s curls while Harry slaps feverishly at Louis’ ass.  Louis’ small but strong and Harry’s all twisting limbs and cherry red grins before Louis’ tugging Harry across the floor by his trousers, Harry latching onto one of Niall’s legs until they’re sliding together over the puddles of water.

Liam jumps when Zayn smacks roughly at his ass, those fingers lingering when Liam peers over his shoulder with narrowed eyes.  Zayn’s grinning, challenging Liam with his eyes and they’re a burst of energy, high-pitched laughter as Liam chases Zayn into the living area, carefully tacking him on the other side of the couch, far from the view of the others.  They’re rolling on top of each other, Liam’s shoulder smacking into the coffee table, Zayn’s foot cracking against the couch before Liam wrestles him down, straddling Zayn’s hips while pining one of his arms down, rolling his eyes when Zayn continues to slap at his ass.

Zayn’s heaving heavy breaths, smirking up at Liam, his eyes half-lidded with his hand curling around the back of Liam’s neck.  Liam lets Zayn have control, releasing his other arm and he falls just that easily.  He lets Zayn push up on one elbow, closing the gap before Liam’s pulled downward, their lips grazing over each other with choked giggles before they’re kissing.

It’s not soft, slow, chaste.  It’s rough, fast, a mind-numbing insanity that Liam clings to with deep breaths, shaky fingers tracing the curve of Zayn’s jaw while Zayn drags his teeth over Liam’s bottom lip.  Liam suppresses a moan, combing his fingers through Zayn’s thick, damp hair while Zayn’s small nails scratch at the back of his neck until they’re both certain there will be sunburn red marks left behind.

Liam digs his fingers into Zayn’s scalp, angling his head until he can press firmer against Zayn’s lips.  Zayn welcomes that small push of Liam’s tongue, his mouth opening and Liam’s moving in before he can form thoughts.  He’s dragging his lips over Zayn’s, feeling Zayn’s erection pushing into that space just behind Liam’s balls and the world’s spinning like a merry-go-round.  And he hopes the others can’t see them, can’t hear that small whimper Zayn utters into Liam’s mouth when Liam licks at his teeth, along the roof of his mouth, the groove of his tongue.

Liam pulls back quickly, reality playing a wicked song in the back of his mind – _And if I recover, will you be my comfort? Or it can be over. Or we can just leave it here._ He’s gasping lowly, glaring at Zayn because Zayn looks like a fucking angel beneath him, clipped wings leaving him vulnerable and heavenly.  Liam can’t bare that image, the way he knows it’ll haunt him later on when this means nothing.  Because that’s what Zayn said, right?  It’s a waste of his time.  He thinks he’s done a proper job of wasting his time without people like Zayn around to aid him.

“What is it?” Zayn asks softly, reaching up and those long fingers burn along Liam’s cheek.

Liam jerks away from the touch, his head shaking.  He’s rolling off of Zayn, damning himself for the way Zayn looks wounded and confused – _And you take what you need. And you know you don’t need me._

“You can’t do this,” Liam says with a quiet hiss, peeking up but Harry, Louis, and Niall are still small balls of laughter on the kitchen floor, kicking playfully at each other.  He turns back to Zayn who’s blinking at him, lips tipping downward.

Liam curls his fingers into fists, knuckles dragging on the floor.  “You can’t kiss me and then forget me when we get home.  You can’t tell your best mate, or whatever Harry is, things between us wouldn’t work because I don’t understand you.  Because I don’t understand what the fuck has happened to us over the years.”

Zayn’s eyes go wide, is body pulling further from Liam.  He drags a hand over his hair, chewing at his lip before he’s whispering, “Liam, I – “

“And, no, you don’t get to kiss me.  You don’t get to explain shit because, fuck you Zayn.  You’re the asshole, not me.  You’re the one who doesn’t understand me.  You’re the one who doesn’t seem to fucking get how I feel about you.  As a friend.  As something more than a fucking mate,” Liam bites out, his voice still harsh and low because he doesn’t want anyone to hear this.  He doesn’t want to say it but its crawling on his insides, its leaving him numb, and he feels like a cold, helpless boy in the middle of his bedroom floor.

Zayn’s lips part, his brow falling but Liam shakes his head – _I’ll give you one more chance to say we can change or part ways_.  He pushes to his feet, fingers still rolled into fists.

“You’ve said enough,” Liam tells him, his voice broken and he doesn’t care that Louis’ looking up now, Niall leaning on Louis’ shoulder with Harry eyeing him with a cautious look.  He’s ready to go home.  He’s ready to crawl into his own bed that doesn’t smell like cigarettes, peaches, lingering traces of vanilla, and the best sex he’s ever had.

He’s ready to get back to the life he was leading before Niall decided it was okay to drag Harry and Zayn to this cabin and ruin the boundaries Liam’s created so perfectly without them around.

**

He feels silly, being in the backseat of his father’s SUV, with Zayn to his right, wedged between Liam and Niall.  Harry, by sheer fate or because Niall felt like being an asshole, is in the passenger seat while Louis drives and Liam wonders at least six times why he’s not the one driving them back to Wolverhampton – Oh, right.  The whole ‘no license’ thing.  And maybe it’s because Niall was being an absolute shit when he made Zayn climb into the middle seat so he could sleep against the door, even though Niall’s been awake for an entire hour now with his earbuds in his ear, bobbing his head wildly to whatever shitty rock music he had blaring from Liam’s iPod – and Liam still hasn’t figured out how Niall got a hold of it but he’s pretty sure Louis let him nick it when Liam let Louis borrow it.

There’s an uncomfortable silence pulsing in the space that feels incredibly small now, even for the roomy SUV.  Liam keeps his eyes on the passing scenery, the trees blurring by and the way the sun keeps climbing behind the clouds the closer they get to Wolverhampton.  Louis keeps grumbling every time Harry switches the station or slips in one of his mix CD’s – “What the fuck is a Passion Pit?” “Shitty Kurt Cobain and his stupid lyrics that make no sense.” “Why don’t you own any Katy Perry?” “More Kanye?  _Christ_.”

Zayn keeps drumming his fingers on his thigh, eyes straight ahead but there’s something just underneath those pressed together lips that Liam tries not to sigh at, letting his eyes fall to his lap when Zayn takes a peek at him.  And Harry?  He’s singing loudly along to every tune like he feels every lyric even though Liam can spot the faraway look in his eyes, the way he winces when Louis smiles like it hurts too fucking much to see the way those lips tilt higher.

“Are you quite finished?” Louis hisses when Harry slouches back in his seat, kicking a foot up on the dash while scanning through the various radio stations in the area.

“Not quite,” Harry sighs, tangling his fingers in his curls while refusing to look at Louis.

Liam thinks it’s all a bit immature, the way they keep dancing around having a real conversation or even bothering to acknowledge the fact that they’re both more than a little upset about the situation.  He tries not to feel like a hypocrite because, honestly, what were he and Zayn doing?  Were they the mature ones even though they haven’t really uttered a word to each other since leaving the cabin?  He doesn’t feel that way, even though he knows all of this is for the best.  It’ll take some of the edge off, right?  It’ll be less complicated come tomorrow when they pass each other in the halls and don’t speak like they’ve been doing for so long now.  It’ll just be part of the routine.  This weekend couldn’t have changed it all that much, yeah?

He snorts to himself, slipping the hood of his thin hoodie over his head while watching the way the signs streak past when Louis pushes a little harder on the pedal.  He slinks lower in the seat, fingers gripping at the door handle.  Nothing feels the same anymore and he wishes that burn he feels along his shoulder from Zayn pressing close to him would just go away.

Zayn yawns softly, his eyelids heavy and Liam catches the way he nods off a few times, jerking back awake like it never happened.  He smiles to himself – Zayn’s sort of adorable.  The way he tries to hum along to the song on the radio – _something by Rihanna_ , Liam thinks – while drumming his fingers on his thigh like all of this will keep him focused, keep him awake.  He chews on his thumbnail, watches the way Zayn’s head droops forward again and, fuck, he feels sorry for him.  He thinks maybe Zayn’s doing it because he doesn’t have that door to lean on, rest his head against like Niall does, who’s snoring lightly with his mouth hanging open.  Maybe he’s avoiding asking to lean further against Liam than he already has to because of the limited space in the backseat.

Guilt collides with pure stupidity when Liam reaches backward, stretching before his arm slides around Zayn’s shoulder.  He chews on his bottom lip, doesn’t bother looking at Zayn even though he can _feel_ Zayn’s eyes on him.  He watches Louis through the rearview mirror, the way Harry wails along with another song on the radio – _And so I wake in the morning and I step outside. And I take a deep breath and I get real high and I scream from the top of my lungs, ‘Hey, what’s going on?’_   He counts backwards, waiting for Zayn to pull away but he doesn’t.  He snuggles a little closer, yawning again with drooping eyes.  Liam bites at a smile, reminding himself how much this is going to hurt soon but he refuses to push Zayn away.

Zayn settles under his arm, adjusting his position in the seat until he’s leaning closer to Liam, resting his head on Liam’s thigh.  His fingers drag over Liam’s jeans, eyes fluttering shut until those long eyelashes are feathered against his cheeks.  Liam grins softly, fingering threads of Zayn’s hair before he feels the weight of drowsiness slide over him.  He feels Zayn shift a little, cuddling to him in a way that crawls at Liam’s heart but he doesn’t have the strength to run from the way he wants Zayn this close more than he wants anything.  He slumps over Zayn, clinging to the warmness of the smaller boy until he rests his head on Zayn’s shoulder, his arm folded around Zayn’s body and the sound of Harry’s voice lulls him into an uneasy sleep.

It’s nearly an hour later when Liam shifts awake.  He yawns loudly, feeling impossibly cold.  He blinks for a moment, everything fuzzy and out of focus until he realizes Zayn’s not asleep in his lap anymore.  No, Zayn’s sitting tensely in the seat next to him, biting impatiently at his bottom lip while flicking that damn lighter until the flame sparks in and out.  Niall’s sitting with his feet hanging out the slightly ajar door, sipping on a Coke before stuffing his face with chips and Liam realizes they’re at a rest stop.

Harry’s playing Angry Birds on his phone while Louis fuels the truck.  Niall keeps offering Zayn chips but Zayn’s shaking his head, chewing at another corner of his lip with his shoulders set, his brow lowered, and Liam can see the veins pulsing in his neck when Zayn stretches forward to whisper something to Harry.  He furrows his own brow, wants to drag Zayn back and make him say everything aloud.  He wants Zayn to look at him, rid him of this gutted feeling because part of him wants Zayn to just apologize for the things he said like he didn’t mean it while another part of him wants Zayn to fucking forget Liam ever existed.  It’s all complicated like some wicked game Liam never asked to play.

“Niall,” Zayn drags out when he slides back into his seat, Harry glaring at Zayn over his shoulder before offering Liam a sympathetic expression.  “Switch me seats.”

Niall’s brow lifts immediately and Liam rolls his eyes, wants nothing more than to make Harry sit in the back so he’s as far from Zayn as he can possibly get when travelling for another two hours in a fucking SUV.  He throws Zayn a look of disdain that Zayn misses because he’s too busy pleading with Niall with just his eyes before Niall’s peeking around Zayn, looking to Liam for some sort of approval.  Liam shrugs violently, turning away and he’s thankful Harry turns up the radio the moment Louis slides back into the driver’s seat because he doesn’t want to hear Niall’s response.

Louis slides the key into the ignition, cranking the truck alive, and the engine whirs quietly with the soft sound of the music – _You say I only hear what I want to_.  Liam’s nose wrinkles at the scent of Niall’s food, the slight hint of cherry in his Coke, his stiff and tangy cologne drawing nearer to him and he wrestles with a frown, forcing a blank expression across his face when Niall snuggles a little closer, humming lowly.

Liam bites at his lip, pushing away his disappointment, watching the way Harry’s long fingers slowly circle Louis’ wrist before the shorter boy can shift the gear into reverse.  Their eyes go wide – Louis and Liam’s – as Harry draws in a little closer, blinking at Louis with something resembling apologetic roaming through those too green eyes.  Louis’ brow draws together – _And you say, I talk so all the time, so_ – his lips curling before quirking as Harry draws in his bottom lip.  His thumb crushes lightly over Louis’s skin until Louis’ stiffness subsides, an angled defiance in the way he finally let his shoulders drop and those once icy blue eyes seem warm, almost inviting when they look at Harry.

“Talk to me,” Harry pleads, all of the words coming out deep and rough but somewhat vulnerable.

“Nothing to say,” Louis replies, a tinge of indignation in his voice.  He lifts his shoulders for a shrug, a frown tripping over Harry’s cherry red lips.

“Nothing,” Harry repeats dryly.  He gives Louis a once over, his emerald eyes narrowing before darkening.  “Nothing at all Lou?”

Louis scoffs, trying to pull away but it’s a weak effort, Liam can tell.

There’s a pressing sigh that slides past Louis’ lips, eyes flickering over the way Harry’s fingers tighten around his wrist, an unwillingness to give up the fight that pushes at the corners of Louis’ lips, drags away that iciness in his tone.

“Fuck it,” Louis breathes out, slumping in his seat.  He drags his other hand over the wheel, fingers curling around it reflexively.  “You know I’d hurt you, right?”

Harry swallows, shaking his head slowly.  “You could try.”

“I’d _succeed_ ,” Louis tells him, frustrated by the way a smile slides over Harry’s lips.  “Like I’d completely break your heart.  I’ve done it enough times.  With El, with other lads.  It’s enough.”

“Enough for who?” Harry wonders, inching nearer to Louis.  Something softens about his appearance, Louis growing rigid and Niall’s popping popcorn in his mouth, Zayn’s eyes on his hands while Liam tries not to stare, tries not to want Harry to win this argument.

He honestly doesn’t think Harry can, win Louis over, but he clings to some silly hope somewhere in the back of his mind.

“Enough for me,” Louis says with a strangled voice, eyes shifting wider as he balks at Harry.  “It’s enough for me.  Do you want to end up hurt?”

Harry shrugs, teeth sliding over his bottom lip – _And I thought what I felt was simple. And I thought that I don’t belong._  His fingers slide further down Louis’ wrist, over his forearm, tracing over the bird tattoo inked there.  He’s cautious with his movements, eyes dragging from Louis’ face to the way his chest is lifting and deflating.

“I get it.  I get that you’re an asshole.  You’re a prick.  You’re selfish,” Harry admits and Liam waits for Louis to react but he merely blinks wide eyes at Harry before Harry’s adding, “And you do it because it’s easier to hurt someone that it is to get hurt.  It’s a right fucked up way to live but, you know, I _get_ it.  You’ve been hurt and it was quite simple for you to be the one doing the hurt rather than being hurt.”

Louis gapes at him for a long moment, nothing but the sounds of the radio and Louis’ heavy breathing trickling through the car – _And now that I am leaving, now I know that I did something wrong cause I missed you_.  He’s gripping the wheel a little firmer and Harry’s pushing at his curls, running his tongue over his lips before offering Louis an endearing smile.

“I’ve been a proper dick before.  I was rather good at it,” Harry tells him, a stuttered laugh breaking through his lips.  There’s a stain of pink across his cheeks, Louis’ mouth snapping shut and he’s eyeing Harry like he doesn’t believe him – _I don’t pay attention to the distance that you’re running to anyone, anywhere. I don’t understand if you really care._

Harry leans in a little closer, words faded pieces of paper never read to a lover.  “It doesn’t get any easier.  And you don’t feel any better at the end of the day, mate.  No, you feel like _shit_.  You’re far too brilliant to feel that way, yeah?”

Louis’ breathing through his nose, lashes barely gracing his cheeks like he’s trying to watch Harry’s every move.  He startles a little when Harry’s fingers run the course of his cheek, Harry’s lips a delicate distance from Louis’ and Niall biting the back of his fist while Liam lifts his brow,  He chances a glance around Niall, spots Zayn looking out the window but Liam can see his reflection against the glass.  The way that shading of scruff along his jaw contrasts with the softness of his skin.  The way his eyes look almost blank but there’s some underlying somberness in them that Liam wishes he could fix but, no, why would he?  It’s not like they’d ever fit together; not the way Liam’s starting to believe Harry and Louis would – _I’m only hearing negative_.

“You don’t understand anything,” Louis finally breathes out, the words dulled by his uneven breathing.

Harry nods, a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth.  “I understand that I think you’re ace.  An amazing kisser.  I think you’re right funny and a bit of a wanker when you don’t get your way.  You’re massively annoying when you’re drunk and you’re quite daft about what’s good for you.  You love your best mates more than anything and you just might think I’m fantastic.”

Louis swallows, trying to shake his head but Harry’s already nodding, ignoring the way Louis looks frustrated and thoughtful all at once – _Some of us hover when we weep for the other who was dying since the day they were born. Well, this is not that I think that I’m throwing, but I’m thrown_.

“You’re completely daft.”

“And you’re insanely overrated,” Harry teases, lips puckering with a smirk.

Louis rolls his eyes, fingertips smoothing over Harry’s wrist, down the underside over a scattering of tattoos.

“You’re an idiot for this,” Louis tells him, waving his hand between them.

“But you’re falling for me, yeah?” Harry grins out, eyebrows wagging and his cheeks are lifting higher, that dimple defined.

“What fucking planet are you from Harry Styles?” Louis snorts, his head inclining toward Harry.

Harry grins, his thumb lifting Louis’ chin and, suddenly, it feels awkward.  The way Louis’ licking his lips, Harry remaining still until Louis finally moves that last inch – _You try to tell me that I’m clever but that won’t take me anyhow, or anywhere with you._

“Doesn’t matter.  I’m telling you I’m okay with you being a complete arse.  Or a jerk.  Or whatever you need to be so you don’t get hurt,” Harry whispers, his lips brushing Louis’ every other word.  “But I’m not gonna hurt you.”

“Are you quite finished?” Louis mutters with a laugh, fingers dragging across Harry’s scalp, tugging on those soft curls.

“Quite,” Harry giggles back and the sound is muffled by Louis pressing his lips firmly against Harry’s – _You try to give away a keeper, or keep me ‘cause you know you’re just so scared to lose. And you say, ‘Stay.’_

Liam swallows, chewing on his thumbnail and pretending this doesn’t feel incredibly difficult to accept.  He lets his eyes flit over Harry and Louis, kisses sticky-sweet like bubblegum and, suddenly, he envies Harry.  Not because he’s kissing Louis because, yeah, that’s sort of gross.  No, it’s the way he shifts his fingers over Louis’ face like his heart owns pieces of Louis now.  It’s the way when he pulls back, pupils blown wide while Louis looks stutter-stuck, Harry knows things will be better.  And Harry has the one thing he wanted – _Louis_ – and he has Zayn, Niall too.  And he has that smile that throbs like thumping music from a pair of large speakers in the middle of a club.

Liam slides down his seat, Niall already snoring pleasantly against his shoulder and he fights with the biggest part of him that wants to reach across Niall’s lap, twine his fingers with Zayn’s and say all of the things his lips can’t with small touches – _And you say I only hear what I want to_.  But he knows that would be foolish.  He’s not that dim.  And he’s not pretending that his fingers are cold, numb at the tips because he misses that touch.

He hates Zayn Malik.  Always has.  Yet, something aches from the tips of his fingers, up his arms, down his chest, in the pit of his stomach.  And he’s pretty sure it’s the reason he wishes Zayn didn’t hate him as much as he’s truly starting to hate himself.

**

Tuesday is nothing like Liam expects.

It’s all routine in the morning when he reaches his locker.  He’s inhaling the heady aroma of his tea when lifting the lid, breathing in the billowing smoke before taking a small sip.  Louis eases up when Liam’s pulling out his notebook, his History book, sliding his backpack over one shoulder.  He eyes Louis for a moment, that thick bright smile over pink lips, blue eyes bursting like fireworks, and Louis’ never this chuffed so early in the morning.  Liam should’ve known the world was somewhat upside down from that moment.  He should’ve braced himself for the blur between what was and what is.

He’s not ready when Niall runs up, pushed up smile on his lips with Harry following behind.  He leans against his locker, watches Niall munch away at a muffin, Harry offering Louis a cup of coffee from that nearby coffee shop with a feverish smile on his cherry lips.  Liam chews on his bottom lip as that grin on Louis’ lips spreads, quiet conversations and tickling giggles between the two of them while Niall rocks on his heels, humming the theme from _Torchwood_.  And Liam’s not prepared when Phoebe walks up to them, teases Louis for a moment before Niall’s slinging an arm around her shoulders, pulling her books from her arms to carry them and escorting her to class with Perrie and Jesy following behind, pointing and giggling like… well, school girls.

It feels like a haze of confusion from there.  Niall and Phoebe hold hands during lunch, Cher shoves Louis into a set of lockers when she and Eleanor pass in the halls – well, that seems normal – and Eleanor can barely lift her head to acknowledge Liam today.  Louis sits at Harry’s table during lunch, Jade in Andy’s lap at the table Liam sits at and Liam watches Zayn push the food around on his plate, pretending he’s hearing everything Harry says.  When he spots Zayn walking toward his next class, Louis, Greg, and Andy flanking Liam, Andy grins before greeting Zayn with a “Hey Zayn,” and Liam knows he looks taken aback, Zayn offering Andy a small smirk and a nod before ducking his head when glancing at Liam.

He feels pulled from the inside out later when he spots Louis and Zayn together in the hall, talking quietly with smiles on their lips and hands on each other’s shoulders.  They’re shoving each other playfully, Louis nearly jumping onto Zayn’s back and Liam feels… completely out of place.  He leans on his locker, chewing on his thumbnail and he knows he’ll be late to his next class but it doesn’t seem to matter.  Not when his stomach dips, the way Zayn’s eyes crinkle and his nose scrunches and, fuck, Liam feels dizzy.  He can’t ignore the way Louis punches Zayn’s shoulder, the way Zayn’s head tips back with another laugh, the way Zayn eases away from him shaking his head before those eyes meet Liam’s.  And Zayn’s biting at his lip then, his brow lowering, and Liam wishes everything inside of him doesn’t crumble at that expression on Zayn’s face – _uneasiness_.

“I like him,” Louis tells him later, when they’re sliding into their sweats for practice.

Liam pulls his shirt over his head, nodding slowly when Louis grins at him.

“He’s kind of brilliant.  And cheeky.  And, fuck, the guy is actually really nice when he speaks, which is like _never_ ,” Louis adds, ruffling his hair before sliding on a beanie that looks oddly like one Liam’s seen Harry wear before.

“You like him,” Liam repeats, his tongue heavy and there’s a dullness to his tone.

Louis shrugs, shoving his clothes into his gym locker.  “Who would’ve thought I’d like Malik of all the blokes at this shitty wasteland.”

“Teenage wasteland,” Liam whispers lowly, chews on his lip when Louis stares at him blankly.  Liam waves him off, sliding into a jumper.  “So your friends now?”

“I don’t know,” Louis replies, another small shrug.  He leans against a few of the lockers, watches Liam tie his trainers for a moment.  “He is Harry’s mate.  And, I mean, he’s not _terrible_ , Liam.”

“Never said he was,” Liam says dryly though Liam’s fairly sure he has.  More than once.  Probably daily.

Louis eyes him incredulously.  He folds his arms over his chest and Liam rolls his eyes promptly.

“It wouldn’t kill you to give him a chance,” Louis tells him, lips folding into something artful and those blue eyes are determined.

Liam wants to call him a hypocrite.  He wants to remind Louis how many of his classmates, Zayn included, he’s written off over the years.  He wants to note how many people Louis’ managed to walk over like they didn’t even exist.  He wants to admit he hates the way all of their friends do the same and, honestly, if he wasn’t Louis’ best mate, would he be any different?  Would they give him a chance?  Would they give two fucks about Liam Payne if he was anything other than that chap on the football team during a winning season who sits at the same table with Louis Tomlinson, Niall Horan, and a cast of unfortunately popular kids instead of with the misfits who were hipsters like Harry, a pothead like that kid Jordan, the dim ones like Amelia, or some comic-book-loving, poetry-writing, leather-jacket-wearing bloke like Zayn Malik.  The same Zayn whom most of them have known since they were kids, who didn’t know what the hell it meant to be divided into small groups of wasted moments like they were now.

Fuck, he wonders if he should even bother telling Louis he hates himself for being one of those misguided excuses for a human being who forgot that he’s known Zayn since things like _Toy Story_ and _Power Rangers_ were more important than being different.

No, Tuesday is nothing like he expects.  Neither is the rest of the week.

Harry shows up at their practices, sitting on the front row of the bleachers with a cup of coffee cupped in his hands, a scarf hanging around his neck with soft curls peeking out of his beanie and a red nose.  Phoebe and Cher join him some days, bundled up and giggling while Phoebe makes faces at Niall, who promptly grins at her and tries to show off some of his skills on the pitch – Liam thinks it’s a bit silly, humorous but Louis chides Niall for it because Louis takes practice fairly serious.  Not that Louis isn’t completely distracted by Harry being there, peeking over his shoulder more than a few times to spot that curvy smile that pushes pink cheeks higher, flares that dimple, and Liam cringes when Greg sends a ball soaring into the side of Louis’ head.

“You cunt.  Fuckwad.  Dipshit little half-ass – “

“ _Miss Lloyd_ ,” their coach calls out in a warning tone and Cher barely sinks back into her spot on the bleachers, Phoebe pulling at her peacoat until Cher narrows her eyes at Greg, flipping him off with a decidedly brilliant smirk.

Niall checks on Louis, Greg kicking up some of the dirt on the pitch, and Liam sighs, tracing his eyes over the fence, across to that set of trees that were now barren of all the leaves.  He bites the inside of his mouth, running his fingers over his slick brow, across his thick hair, and there’s nothing there.  Empty picnic tables, a small pile of dead leaves, and no cloud of smoke from a cigarette that should’ve been between a pair of chapped lips, ones Liam’s kissed and savored.  No, there’s no bowed head, no one scribbling in a notebook, no one taking Liam’s breath away with autumn gold eyes, a smattering of scruff, a tall quiff that Liam desperately wanted to run his fingers through.

He feels sick, flushed and, _fuck_ , his eyes slide shut for a moment because he needs someone to save him.  He needs someone to remind him of the way he was.  Someone to say it’s quite okay to get over this stupid feeling that’s keeping him up at night when he needs to sleep.  Something that has him begging for it all to stop when he sits in class, dragging his pen on the corners of his notebook when he needs to pay attention.  And he wonders, more times than he should, if Zayn is sitting in the back of his class somewhere, scribbling silly little things like _‘Zayn + Liam’_ _or ‘Zayn Payne’_ or _‘Zayn loves Liam’_ on his notebook like a fucking lovesick sixteen year old.

When he blinks his eyes open again, his teammates doing laps around the pitch like they always did before the end of practice, he trains his eyes on Harry.  On the way Harry’s hugging himself, blinking at Liam with a tinge of sympathy in his eyes because he _knows_.  How could he not?  How could anyone not feel this emptiness inside of Liam when he knows he drags it around with him everywhere now like it’s his shadow.

Liam toes his trainer into the harden ground, running his eyes over Phoebe and Cher, who giggle and chatter like this is what they’ve done every day of secondary school.  He glances just a little higher up in the bleachers, the last row so far back that Liam has to focus to see it from here.  He swallows, slicing his teeth into his lip when he looks on that swirling cloud of smoke, a pen marring a sheet of paper, a lowered head, and it’s not a quiff today but the hair falls flatly over his forehead with a beanie pushed far enough back that Liam can see just the slightest hint of brown in that dark hair from where that blonde strip used to be.

“All the time,” Louis whispers, clasping his hands on the back of Liam’s shoulders.

Liam quirks up an eyebrow, eyes still focused on that wavering cloud of smoke, the way fingers pull the cigarette from pinkish lips.  He’s desperate to let Zayn breathe that smoke into his lungs just so he can press his lips firmly to Zayn’s.

“He comes by, when we practice.  Sometimes in the bleachers.  Sometimes by the fence.  Usually far enough that you don’t see him,” Louis explains through small pants, his exhaustion from doing laps setting in.  He rests his chin on Liam’s shoulder, nuzzling his nose to Liam’s damp jumper before adding, “Harry says he’s really sorry.  The poor chap is quite miserable about all of it.”

Liam snorts, narrowing his eyes.  “The fuck he is.  He’s Zayn Malik, remember?”

Liam doesn’t offer Louis the chance to reply.  He pulls away roughly, straightening his jumper before turning and trying to catch up with Niall on the pitch, laughing when Niall nearly collapses from the half of a lap he’s done.  He doesn’t bother looking over his shoulder to the bleachers.  He keeps his eyes trained on the dead grass, the trees surrounding the pitch, anything but that swirl of smoke and those warm brown eyes.  And he wonders for far too long if Louis was right and maybe Liam was the asshole now.  He doesn’t think he is but he’s certain he hasn’t been right about a lot of things in his life.

**

It’s Monday morning when Liam feels his world slide into a familiar footing again.  Niall still holds Phoebe’s hand when they walk down the halls, but Eleanor and Louis seem to smile softly at each other again when they pass.  Harry’s still with Niall every morning, offering Louis coffee while Niall munches on a new treat from the bakery – Harry works there now and Niall’s unbelievably chuffed about it all.  Greg’s a little less harsh when he passes, nodding at them before sliding by Jesy’s locker, flirting shamelessly with Perrie like he has a chance.

“I’m going to be shit at that damn math exam,” Harry labors out, half-leaning on Niall while squeezing Louis’ hand impatiently.

“You’ll do fine, love,” Louis says assuredly, leaning up to press a kiss to his cheek.  Liam grins, tipping his head back.

If anything, Louis was not fearful of expressing himself physically in front of anyone.  He’s done well with the funny looks he and Harry receive, with the way more than a few people whisper about them, make quiet jokes that no one has the bullocks to say directly to Louis.  To say a large percentage of their school might actually fear Louis would be quite the understatement.  But, then again, that’s how it’s always been.

“Math?  Try Economics,” Niall sighs out, tearing into a Danish before taking a large swallow of his Coke.  “Have I mentioned I hate Sixth Form?”

“Twice a day for almost two years,” Louis reminds him dryly, pushing out a smile when Niall pouts at him.

“Fucking college,” Niall groans, adjusting the strap of his bag on his shoulder.

“Fucking college,” Harry repeats with a nod and Liam chuckles because, yeah, Harry’s still a year younger than them but he fits in properly without even trying.

Liam pulls open his locker, reaching for his notebook but a small slip of paper slides out into his hands.  He looks at it curiously, Louis and Harry too caught up in some mind-numbing conversation about _Doctor Who_ to notice and when Liam lifts it, he can smell nothing but cigarettes, peaches, and vanilla.  He unfolds it and almost immediately recognizes that neat handwriting that looks artful and delicate at the same time.

_‘I think about your eyes; honey or brown? Warm, honest, never letting me down. Your hands – smooth and strong. Across my shoulder, over my heart, lingering too long. Your lips against mine. Whispered words, gentle kisses like the rush of a tide. Your arms leave me weak. Lying awake in them until I can’t speak. I’m a blistered summer gone. You’re my constellation of stars before the dawn. There’s no end, yet you disappear. I’m hollow, vision unclear. But then I feel your arms, your lips, your hands, your eyes. You’re amazing and it took too long to realize.’_

His breathing feels uneven, his eyes tracing over the words again and again until they blur together.  He looks over the way the letters curl, the small hearts connecting a few letters and they don’t look at all girly.  He traces his fingers over the creases in the paper, over the corners at look puckered like fingers had gripped them uncertainly for too long.  He seizes in a breath and his fingers are trembling, teeth nipping at his lip, and his heart is hammering against his chest.

“He stayed up all night trying to write it,” Harry whispers and Liam shakes, head snapping up to a smiling Harry, who’s peering at the piece of paper Liam’s clutching over his shoulder.  “The poor prick kept writing it over and over while I tried to study.  I almost kicked the little shit out of my house.”

Liam blinks at him, choking on an inhale because, honestly, he’s forgotten how to breathe for a moment.  He’s forgotten that he’d gotten over this – the whole Zayn thing.  Whatever it was.  Whatever it never should’ve been.  He’s spent the entire weekend doing anything other than thinking about that quiff, those eyes he can’t decipher, that shyness that’s some sort of built-in protection device from the Zayn Liam thinks only he’s gotten to know.

And Liam feels helpless for one too many moments.

“It’s the only way he knows how to say ‘I’m sorry,’” Harry adds just before the bell rings, a genuine smirk pushing at his lips as Louis hooks an arm around Harry’s waist, pulling him down the hall.

Liam stays still, leaning against his open locker.  He ignores the way Niall calls for him, the way Eleanor gives him a troubled glance before she’s scurrying down the hall with Perrie.  He tips his head back, stares straight ahead, and wonders when he’ll remember how much he hates Zayn Malik.  He wonders if he’ll remember to exhale all of this confusion pressing down on his chest – _For you, there’ll be no more crying. For you, the sun will be shining._

Liam misses half of his first class, stares blankly at the back of Eleanor’s head through his second class.  He doesn’t even remember attending his third class and, by lunch, he’s in a daze.  He’s numb, clutching that piece of paper until it wrinkles further, cuts at the palm of his hand with its sharp edges but he won’t pocket it.  He won’t let it go and, when he spots Zayn sliding out the side door down the hall, he can’t help but follow.

It’s cold outside, the stiff air attacking him immediately but he ignores it.  He pulls his varsity jacket closed and slides around the side of the building when his nose wrinkles at the overwhelming scent of nicotine.  He finds Zayn leaning against the brick wall, his head tilted backward while blowing out a few clouds of smoke.  He chews at his lip, watches the way Zayn rubs at his chin with his fingers, not even bothering to look Liam’s way.

He looks amazing, beautiful.  His hair is tucked behind a black beanie, gray jumper looking far too thin to protect him from the cold November breeze.  His black jeans cling to his small legs, boots looking dusty from the dirt on this side of the building.  That scruff is thinner, sideburns thick, and even against the faded gray sky, Zayn’s skin glows a glittery gold.  Those pinkish lips curl around the filter of the cigarette again, his chest expanding for another pull and Liam breathes in with him, holds in that air as Zayn pushes smoke out through his lips and nose.

Liam lets the piece of paper scratch at his palm – _And I feel that when I’m with you, it’s alright. I know it’s right_ – before finally pocketing it into his jacket.  He’s scuffing his Converse on the ground before taking a few hesitant steps forward.  He halts when Zayn peers his way, an eyebrow arching but Liam clings to his resolve, moves close enough that he’s breathing in Zayn’s exhaled smoke, standing in front of him with a knit brow and lips tilting lower.

“I _get_ you,” Liam says, his voice a little wobbly.  He swallows, undeterred when Zayn pushes his lips sideways across his face.  He swallows quickly before adding, “I don’t understand all of you and, you’re right, we’re not who we were when we were children.  But I get you, Zayn.  I always have.  And I get that you think I’m not _that_ guy anymore because I’m _not_.  _That_ Liam didn’t appreciate the friendship he had with you.  _That_ Liam was too busy arguing with you over stupid things that he didn’t understand how wonderful you are.  _Brilliant_.  Bloody incredible and, really, it’s quite fucking annoying because you make me feel like I’m not slightly good enough to be anything to you.”

Zayn tips his head back further, a hint of shock running over his face before he’s lifting his cigarette to his lips again, turning his head to blow the smoke away from Liam.  Liam grins at that, fidgeting from foot to foot.

“But I understand you, Zayn.  I watched them all be dicks to you for years.  I watched them make you feel different when, really, we were all different in our own ways,” Liam sighs out, dragging his foot across the ground.  “And I watched them all make me feel like I was something because of _what_ I was, not _who_ I am.  I was a proper asshole for not seeing that.”

“You were,” Zayn concurs, his face expression still blank.

Liam nods, his lips sliding into a smile.  “A dick.”

“Quite the prick,” Zayn says, his lips fighting with a smile.

“But that doesn’t mean things wouldn’t work out,” Liam tells him, lifting an uneasy hand and his fingertips feel warm, alive when they run over the back of Zayn’s hand, across his knuckles, the small bruises and cuts.  He wants to know where Zayn got each of them, wants to remember the rough patches, the smooth ones, that ones that tingle when Liam touches him – _To you, I’ll give the world. To you, I’ll never be cold._

“It won’t.”

“It will,” Liam says, his tone stinging with determination.  “You… _fuck_ , Zayn, you mean the world to me and I don’t know when the hell any of this started.  I was supposed to hate you.  I _did_.  I did a proper job of that for a long time.”

“You did?” Zayn wonders, another drag of his cigarette masking a small frown.

Liam nods solemnly, guilt cutting his skin until he has to curl his fingers between Zayn’s to ease the sharpness.  Zayn doesn’t tug away and Liam takes it as a sign, inches a little closer until they’re nearly chest to chest.  He inhales peaches, that quiet cologne hiding beneath the scent of cigarettes – _And the songbirds are singing like they know the score_ – and he feels at home, eyes sliding shut.

“But the second you were out of my life again,” Liam breathes out, pausing to inhale sharply.  He’s shaking, he knows it, and he doesn’t settle when Zayn runs his fingertips over Liam’s cheek, across his chin.  “I wasn’t all right.  I needed you around.  I couldn’t hate you not nearly as much as I hated myself.”

Zayn’s fingers lifts his chin some, stroke over his neck, nails dragging over the nape of Liam’s neck.  He draws Liam closer, their foreheads touching and Liam’s eyes blink open when Zayn drops his cigarette, stubbing it with his toe.  His other hand finds Liam’s waist beneath that jacket, fingers digging into spaces that have been numb without Zayn’s touch.  They fit into their own groove like they’ve been there for years and, fuck, Liam _feels_ his breathing stop for a second when Zayn’s lips curl into a smile.

“You’re an idiot.”

“I can’t help it,” Liam whispers.  He’s never felt weak around the others.  Foolish, yes.  Invisible, maybe.  But never weak.  Never helpless.  He feels that way with Zayn and he’s less of a man somehow.

“You honestly think this’ll work?  Some sport who loves football and some prick who loves reading and writing shit poems?” Zayn asks, his voice low and rough from the smoke.

“You write brilliant poems,” Liam argues softly and he knows it’s an incredibly daft way of telling Zayn he’s going to reread that poem twenty more times before the day is over but he thinks Zayn understands – _And I wish you all the love in the world. But most of all, I wish it from myself._

“This is crazy, Liam.”

“Only to everyone else.”

“You’re certain this is what you want?”

“Only if you want it too.”

“I’ve never been a fantastic boyfriend, you know.”

“Doesn’t matter.  You’re incredible to me.”

“You sound like some cheesy lad from one of those soaps Doniya watches,” Zayn snorts, scratching his small nails over the back of Liam’s neck.

“Sorry, I’m shit at the romantic stuff.  I can do better,” Liam offers, his cheeks pushing high with a grin.

“No,” Zayn says quickly, licking at his lips before tugging his bottom lip between his teeth.  “I like this Liam.  I fancy him quite a bit.”

Liam rolls his eyes, circling his arms around Zayn’s waist.  “Please stop chatting with my best mate.  He’s ruining you.”

“You love it.”

Liam can’t help but nod.  He does, actually.  He loves that Harry fits into his life just as easy as Niall did.  He loves that Phoebe is a brill singer, Louis seems softer, a bit more endearing with Harry around, and he adores that Louis and Niall cling to Zayn like he’s always been there.  And he has, Liam sorts out.  He was just too busy hating him to know the difference.  He knows he’ll spend far too long hating himself for that – _And the songbirds keep singing like they know the score_ – but something tells him he’ll have Zayn around to remind him that he can spend the rest of his time learning how to forgive himself.

“Boyfriend,” Liam whispers, letting the word settle on his tongue until he learns to love it.  “Is that some sort of official title?”

Zayn chuckles, sliding his nose gently across Liam’s.  “I’m not too fond of it.  I’m certain I won’t tell my mum such a thing when you come over to study with me.  I might see how Doniya likes it but, yeah, it’s something kind of official.”

Liam grins, doesn’t feel the need to argue with Zayn.  It’s enough for him.

“I’m sure I can think of better terms.  Lovers.  Mates, but not in the way Louis and I are.  Sweetheart.  Love muffin, though I’m quite sure Niall will find that offensive and quite daft considering his affair with nosh,” Liam says, teasing his fingers along the small of Zayn’s back.

“Babe, shut up and kiss me.”

Liam tries to school the shock on his face but Zayn’s leaning in with his eyelashes fluttering against his cheek and Liam snorts, letting Zayn push his lips against Liam’s.  He can taste the smoke and he doesn’t mind.  He loves the way Zayn’s lips fit against his like fingertips running over ivory and ebony piano keys.  He tilts his head slightly, fitting their mouths together until Zayn’s tongue licks at the seam of his lips, and he’s opening them automatically.  He’s tugging Zayn closer when Zayn’s fingers dig into his hip, quieting a moan from Zayn’s mouth with gentler kisses that explore senses he hasn’t touched in far too many days.

When they pull apart, Liam’s saliva slicking Zayn’s lips, he grins.  He strokes a thumb over Zayn’s bottom lip, dragging his hand backward to rub at Zayn’s waist, over his hipbone.  He lets Zayn press a kiss to the corner of his mouth, feeling weightless and dizzy.  He shrugs out of his varsity jacket, slides it on Zayn.  Zayn stares at him wide-eyed, Liam fumbling with the smile on his lips while a shiver from the sharp breeze runs down his spine.  He’s fucking freezing but the way Zayn glows like he’s made of gossamer warms him.  He drags his fingers over the leather sleeves, the sewn on patches until Zayn slides his own arms into them, tugging it closer while tracing his fingertips over the _‘Payne’_ stitched onto it.

“Something kind of official,” Liam says lowly with a smile, watching Zayn’s sharp cheeks flush a soft pink.

Liam fits his fingers between Zayn’s, clasping his hand as the bell rings across the building.  He slides his fingers beneath Zayn’s beanie, pushing it further back until he can tangle his digits into that thick hair, dragging Zayn with him toward the side door.  Liam doesn’t release Zayn’s hand when they stumble into the main hall, a weary look paling Zayn’s face but a grin strokes Liam’s lips, pulling Zayn closer until it’s more than obvious that Liam’s not just holding Zayn’s hand for comfort.  No, he’s holding it because he wants to.  He’s holding it because Zayn means _something_.  And he’s never been one to want anyone to belong to him, but he holds Zayn’s hand like Zayn is his.  When a small smile passes over Zayn’s lips, he thinks Zayn feels the same way.

“Oh my fucking Lord,” Louis hisses when they pass, Zayn shrugging while Liam pushes his grin higher.

Liam ignores the glare he gets from Greg, nods when Andy gives him a thumbs up while Niall nearly drops his lemon bar, Phoebe pushing his mouth shut.  He gentles a kiss to Zayn’s mouth when Kyle and Nathan pass, something sparking high and bright inside of his belly.  Harry bites at a grin, falling in line behind them and Perrie slings an arm around Eleanor’s shoulder before dragging her to follow.  Cher sighs, jerking Louis by the collar until they’re right behind Eleanor and Perrie and Liam thinks, for once, they’re not all just a bunch of misfits unsure of their place in all of this.

For once, they’re not the popular ones, the elite group that made people like Zayn and Harry feel like shit.  No, because Zayn was right there next to Liam, holding his hand, wearing his jacket, and carrying Liam’s heart in his back pocket while the others grinned behind them like this is how it should’ve always been.

**

Liam thinks the snowflakes in late December are the best.

There’s a pureness to them, the way they glitter the darken sky.  They dance across the streets, sheet the cars and the roads in a gleaming ivory that makes him long for those nights he curls in front of his fireplace at home.  He smiles to himself, thinks of the lights twinkling against the Christmas tree that’s dressed in far too much garland and ornaments but Ruth and Nicola wouldn’t have it any other way.  He can still smell the sweet scent of sugar cookies his mum bakes, the heady scent of the pine from the tree – his father always insisted on having a real tree even though he’d complain all January about the needles it would leave behind – and he still remembers clinging to the banister late at night, waiting for Santa Claus to drop presents beneath that tree until his mum would wake him in the morning, asleep on the stairs with a smile curled over his lips.

The air is always chilly but pleasant.  The snow sticks to everything, leaving his fingertips and toes numb but it’s the kind of feeling he likes to cling to when March comes and everything is bright, bright sunshine with weeks of rain.  And it’s a mere two days before Christmas, his mind buzzing from the excitement and the relief of being free from school for a few weeks.

“It’s fucking _freezing_ out here,” Louis whines, clinging tightly to his oversized coat and Liam grins.  Louis hates December and January, and any other month that doesn’t consist of sunshine and weather warm enough for him to wear his shorts and Vans.

“It’s lovely,” Harry grins out, the snow crunching under his feet as he spins around in the falling flakes of glitter.

Niall mumbles out some sort of agreement, munching on a muffin while sipping at his cup of cocoa.

Louis pouts, leaning against the hood of Liam’s father’s SUV, the one that he actually lets Liam borrow now because Liam’s made good enough grades this term, has started to become quite the dominating force on their football team – they’d won the last three games because of plays Liam made – and Liam thinks his dad might be just a little fond of Zayn, not that he’s admitting it to anyone.  Still, he asks more than once if Zayn was coming by for Christmas dinner, if Zayn would be interested in watching the game with them, and warning Liam that Zayn should stop bringing Liam’s mum flowers, all with a smile that Liam covets.

Liam’s arms are secured around Zayn’s shoulders, hands clasping over Zayn’s chest as he holds him from behind.  He nuzzles his cold nose to Zayn’s cheek, lips scratching against that scruff as Zayn blows warm breath into his hands, trying to warm his fingers.  Liam’s toying with his varsity jacket, the one Zayn’s wearing while Liam’s own arms feel tight and stiff under Zayn’s leather jacket.  The material pulls at his shoulders and he’s laughing into the side of Zayn’s neck when Harry chucks a snowball at Niall, squealing when Niall drops his cup of cocoa to chase Harry around the SUV.

“If you hurt my boyfriend, I will be forced to shove the lump of coal Santa was leaving you up your little Irish bum,” Louis announces, grinning when Harry and Niall slide across the snow, tumbling together until they’re covered in white flakes, laughing loudly.

Liam breathes in peppermint, black coffee, a hint of vanilla, and that warm scent that always clings to Zayn’s skin – _Have you ever fed a lover with just your hands? Closed your eyes and trusted, just trusted?_   His fingers trace the line of Zayn’s jaw, over his cheeks while Zayn leans his back further into Liam’s chest, tilting his head to the side and Liam takes the invitation to pepper delicate kisses along the column of Zayn’s neck.  He shivers at the smile that passes over Zayn’s lips, the way he reaches back to rub his fingers over Liam’s hip, eyes fluttering shut.

He doesn’t know when this became so natural, the way they touch, cling to each other.  It’s a constant connection, a continuous reminder that this is real, that they have each other.  It’s in class, in the halls, at lunch when they’re all crowded around the table now.  There’s never enough room for all the trays of food, Phoebe sitting in Niall’s lap because there’s not enough chairs and Eleanor keeps teasing them, throwing food at Louis when he whispers to Harry while Cher flips Zayn off from across the table when he tells her she has shit taste in music.  They holding hands under the table, leaning into each other when Andy says something funny or when Max gives Perrie shit about her new hair color – it’s a pale purple this month and Liam’s almost certain it’ll probably be blue when they all return from the holidays.

Its late nights, in Liam’s bedroom with the door slightly ajar – his mum refused to let Liam lock the door because, well, they were still teens and _“I remember what teens do behind closed doors,”_ she tells them with a quiet giggle.  They pretend to study for hours even though Liam’s busy tiptoeing his fingers over Zayn’s shoulder, down his side, over his ribs, across his back while Zayn lays face down, using a Sharpie to scribble little poems over the back of Liam’s hand, his palm, up his forearm and right along that tattoo Liam has – _‘Everything I wanted but nothing I’ll ever need…’_ – until Liam’s giggling and pressing Zayn on his back to press soft kisses over Zayn’s face, down his neck.

There’s the way their fingertips run over each other, Liam’s calloused tips against Zayn’s softer ones, when Liam slides inside of Zayn, lips capturing a moan that breaks Zayn’s lips.  It’s on his bed sometimes, on the couch when his mum is working a later shift, sometimes in the basement of Zayn’s house when his sisters are upstairs playing while his mum makes dinner.  It’s when Zayn’s dragging his lips across Liam’s neck, his fingers gentle against Liam’s hips as he pushes into Liam from behind, Liam biting into the palm of his own hand until the burn subsides.  Zayn’s touches are always incredible then, comforting in an almost haunting way because he feels a need to remind Liam that he’s there with Liam, he’s not going to hurt him – _Have you ever thrown a fist full of glitter in the air? Have you ever looked fear in the face and said, ‘I just don’t care’?_

Zayn presses giggling kisses against the tip of his nose, reads him quiet poetry while Liam’s head rests on his chest, eyes drooping until Zayn’s mum wakes them in the middle of the night, insisting Liam get home before his mum panics.  Sometimes it’s his fingers dragging through Zayn’s hair, legs tangled on Louis’ bed while Harry and Niall argue over what game to play on Xbox and Louis’ always fussing at them for being too loud or at Liam for _“cuddling your fucking boyfriend like a proper Romeo.  It’s gross, Li, honestly.”_   Liam ignores him, settles kisses along Zayn’s hairline and, for just that moment, he smiles at the word _‘boyfriend’_ because, honestly, he and Zayn never say it to each other.  But it is what this has become.  A relationship.  A thing that Liam just can’t escape and, yeah, he’s okay with that.

“Dinner’s at six?” Zayn asks, his head tipping a little further back to look into Liam’s eyes.

Under the dark sky, the fluttering drops of snow, Zayn’s eyes look almond.  Liam grins, tucks that thought into the sleeve of his heart because he wonders what color they’ll be later on when Liam’s fucking him on the backseat of that SUV.

“Yeah,” Liam says softly, dragging the scruff on his chin across Zayn’s forehead until Zayn’s laughing, elbowing him away.  “And your mum wants me to come by afterwards?”

Zayn nods proudly, reaching up to tug at the tuft of hair on Liam’s head, musing his mild attempt at a quiff.

“Stop looking like me.”

“Stop trying to look cool.  You’re _not_.”

“Whatever,” Zayn says with a smirk, his lips pressing sideways.  “Dork.”

Liam waggles his eyebrows, snickering while leaning down to run his lips over Zayn’s temple.

“I don’t really celebrate Christmas but,” Zayn pauses, drawing a little away from Liam to reach into his back pocket, “I got you something.”

Liam pulls back, his arms dropping away from Zayn and he’s taken aback when Zayn holds up a small black box lined with a neatly tied silver ribbon around it.  He’s certain Doniya did that for Zayn but he doesn’t question it.  He merely reaches a shaking hand out to grab the box, his fingers sliding against Zayn’s.

“I didn’t have any money to get you something proper but I thought, I don’t know, you’d sort of like this,” Zayn explains as Liam struggles to untie the bow with his trembling fingers.

He feels awful because, well, he knows Zayn doesn’t celebrate Christmas.  He figured Zayn was doing the holiday thing for his sake; the dinner with his family, inviting Liam over to sit around and drink cocoa with Zayn’s family.  But gifts?  They hadn’t discussed gifts though Liam had saved up just enough money from his shifts at the donut shop to get Zayn something if he wanted.  He sorted out to save the quid he’d earn for something special for Zayn’s birthday instead.

Liam lifts the lid on the box, staring down curiously for a beat before his eyes go wide.  The box is small enough to house a nice piece of jewelry, maybe a ring or something tiny but instead it’s a slip of expensive paper.  The words written on it are written in some sort of glittery gold ink and Liam’s breath hitches when he reads it quietly to himself – _‘I love you.’_

He lifts his head, blinks at Zayn.  Zayn smiles uncertainly, rubbing at the back of his neck – _Have you ever been touched so gently you had to cry? Have you ever invited a stranger to come inside?_

Liam’s thought of those three small words on more nights than he could count.  They’d never said them to each other, not in the few weeks this thing had been going on.  They sat on the tip of his tongue more times than he cared to admit to.  When Zayn was asleep in his arms, when they were sitting on the grass in Liam’s yard, fingers tangled together while staring up at the sky trying to count the stars.  He’s wanted to whisper them, biting on his tongue because he couldn’t.  It wouldn’t be right, would it?  To admit to Zayn, to himself that he was in love with the boy he’d spent so long hating.  No, not when he was just beginning to find his footing in this haze of happiness that started with some silly weekend at a cabin.  But he’s wanted to.  Fuck, he’s wanted to so badly he’s bit his lip raw holding it back.

“I thought it might make you happy,” Zayn whispers, still unsteady with his expression like he’s half expecting Liam to shrug it off.  “And because I didn’t really know a proper way to tell you.  I told you I’m shit at relationships.”

Liam shakes his head, lifting a hand to clutch Zayn’s cheek.  His breathing is uneven and there’s an overwhelming burn running down the center of his chest – _The breath before the kiss. And the fear before the flames. Have you ever felt this way?_   His thumb sketches over Zayn’s defined cheeks, down over his jaw until he can find his balance, slow that steady cadence of his drumming heart.

“I love you too,” Liam manages to choke out, grinning widely at Zayn.  He catches the way Zayn exhales like he can breathe again and it leaves his stomach coiling, his skin hot.

“I didn’t get you anything,” Liam mutters, eyes drifting back to that slip of paper again – _Have you ever wished for an endless night? Lassoed the moon and the stars and pulled that rope tight?_

Zayn snorts, biting at his lip.  “You did.  A long time ago.”

Liam nods like he knows what Zayn means and he does.  He gets it.  He gets Zayn.  For a brief second, he gets everything and he leans forward, cold lips pressing to Zayn’s warmer ones until he can’t hear Louis barking at them, Harry and Niall giggling in the snow, the sound of Christmas songs being sung in the distance, or cars driving back in the blanket of white.  His lips settle, letting Zayn strip oxygen from his mouth, and he feels incredibly at ease with himself.  With Zayn.

And he hates Zayn Malik for doing all of this to him.  For making him comfortable with himself.  For reminding him who they all were a long time ago.  For kissing him at that cabin, stripping away that neatly built world his friends made for him so he could see for what he truly was: honest and genuine.  He hates Zayn Malik for telling Liam he loved him because Liam wanted to do it so fucking long ago it’s all he didn’t know he wanted.

He hates Zayn Malik for writing him poetry, looking at Liam like he’s the only star in the sky, and for pointing out the emptiness inside of him before filling with it with words written on tiny sheets of paper – _Have you ever held your breath and asked yourself, ‘Will it ever get better than tonight?’_

Honestly, he loves Zayn Malik.  Always has.  He’s certain he always will.

**Author's Note:**

> That wasn't too horrible, was it? I hope not but, then again, I don't know. I was scared to post this because of the tremendous response I got from my last fic. It was a bit overwhelming and I'm certain I'm just second guessing myself but, still, I hope you don't hate this.
> 
> I'll go crawl back into my little corner now. Thanks for reading!
> 
> (Also, if you ever need a playlist or want to know what's going on with my writing, I'm on tumblr - [Jesse](http://jmcats.tumblr.com))


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